


The Silver Watchmen

by valia67



Category: Original Work
Genre: Action, Friendship/Love, Gen, Genetic Disorders & Abnormalities, Investigations, Near Future, Science Fiction, Thriller, following a team working in an institution fighting crime in the future, group criminality and mafias
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:26:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26374195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valia67/pseuds/valia67
Summary: 2058. The world has evolved, and so has society. After a terrible nuclear disaster in Europe, social tensions are at their highest, just like resentment towards established institutions. People demand change, in energy production and in governance. The catastrophe killed thousands of people and shocked the international community. But most importantly, it transformed the few survivors left.Svetlana is part of a newly founded unit that fights group criminality on the rise in very unorthodox ways. Human trafficking has skyrocketed in conjunction with the explosion, and along with her colleagues, she hunts down the plague that are mafias in a shifting world. But the monsters are not always where you expect them to be.





	The Silver Watchmen

_Saratov, Russia, 2048_

It was snowing. Despite wearing thick gloves, Svetlana felt like her fingers were crystallizing under the cold. She had never felt alone like this before; sitting on the ground, encircled by an endless white blanket, she watched the sun set. That way, she could get deep into thinking and try to understand what she was feeling. And precisely, the little girl was lost; aside from the melancholy permeating her, Svetlana did not recall having been this calm before. It was as if she refused to perceive the truth, to accept what had happened a month ago. How to blame her eleven-year old self?

Her coat was getting wetted by the snow; her ears and nose were reddened by the wind, and her cheeks were rigidified by dried tears. The child arranged her hat, and finally emerged from her lethargy; it was time to go home.

_Sabralis, Czech Republic, 2058_

The man in black kept racing ahead. His legs were getting weak, his heart beat inside his chest, his breathing was hectic: his whole body told him to stop. But he could not; _they_ were after him, and _they_ always reached their target. The pressure of his gun tied to his belt reminded him he was able to defend himself; but he had to be quick. There was only one chance. As soon as he would fire, the gunshots would signal his location, and it would be over. Gathering the little courage he had left, he grabbed his gun and turned around, ready to pull the trigger…

Another bullet, way quicker, cut through the air and nestled in the man’s thorax, who collapsed in a pained moan. His lifeless body lied on the alley’s humid ground, beside the puddles and drain covers, where trash piled up. _Going back right where he comes from_ , thought the shooter. Taking off her infrared glasses, she pressed her multifunction belt from which sprung up a hook. She then proceeded to go down the building on which she was set, gripping the displaced bricks on the wall. She caught a glimpse of a bag next to the body, various files gushing out of it. It was almost too easy.

“That’s what we’re looking for,” a feminine voice said in the dark. Leila.

“You scared me!” exclaimed Svetlana. “Next time, don’t bellow that way.”

“Hey, young lady. I’m still older than you. You better talk to me with respect or I’ll snitch you to the boss,” she amusingly threatened.

“Yeah yeah, you’re saying this since forever. You need to innovate, grandma.”

“Well, now you can be sure to do overtime.”

The two women discreetly guffawed, as if they did not measure the gravity of the situation. A dead man was at their feet, and one of them had took him down. Well, perhaps it was less of an unabashed laughter than a joke to break the solemnity of the moment. Having fun above the dead was not the worst thing these days. Leila bent down to take the folder containing several sheets, a strange thing in the 21st century.

“Apparently, our friend in the present case knew more than expected… Why carry around an unsecured case?”

“No idea. Maybe he thought he wouldn’t get caught.”

“Yeah… Well, to obtain his location by chance, I’d say we’re damn lucky,” asserted the woman. “I’ll give this to the research department. Going home?”

“Yep, I’m hungry,” flatly said Svetlana.

The young woman then followed her colleague to get to the car. The truth was, Leila was more than a coworker for Svetlana; a sister, a role-model, a friend, a mentor. She represented way more for the young Russian that what she could imagine. Svetlana admired Leila for her incredible physical condition, her tactics, her way of thinking; she had taken arms up during an uprising in her home country and had been pursued by the fanatical government she was fighting. She had fled to Eastern Europe, changed names and appearances, planning to strike again at the right time to free her land, Mali.

Adding up to this past worthy of a war hero, Leila could take pride in being beautiful; her skin was of a deep black, with chocolate hues; she had hair just as dark, cut short in an unstructured way, sometimes falling on her eyes. They were uncommon, half aniseed-green, half hazelnut. Leila had a clear-cut physiognomy: everything in her was sharp, from her jaw to her well-designed lips, her shoulders to her hips. Of all evidence, few dared to pick on her; and yet, she could be as gentle as a lamb with her loved ones and did not hesitate to sacrifice herself for them. Undeniably, Leila was the person Svetlana aspired to be.

The two women got to their car and drove through Sabralis to get to the Headquarters. The Headquarters were the institution for which they worked, belonging to the _Watchmen_ international defense organization; its purpose was to strengthen security in every member-State, and more particularly to put an end to the massive criminal outbreak of the last years.

The 7th of July 2038, a nuclear power station located in Croatia exploded, leaking gamma radiations of a high intensity, killing every living organism situated in a 125-miles radius. Of course, thousands of people died in the wake of the explosion, when they were not contaminated by rays. This nuclear disaster, named the “Pazin Tragedy”, gave room for violent demonstrations targeting nuclear energy production. Gradually, the movement spread to Europe and Asia, creating additional tensions. Parallelly, the directly affected by rays were studied in NGO-friendly hospitals, where they had been admitted. They seemed to produce uninterrupted and completely new cycles of mutations, becoming genetically unique if they survived. For science, they were extraordinary patients, literally out of the norm. For mafias, they appeared to be an unprecedented source for human trafficking. An inextinguishable interest for those “survivors” was born, in populations just as in other spheres. Over time, some even managed to bear and bring children to the world. On the other side of the globe, decades after Fukushima, the destructive effect of radiations slightly weakened and the survivors’ descendants bore modified alleles as well, even visible physical mutations. None of them lived very long, but they became the embodiment of one of humanity’s fears: to no longer look human. But those cases were taken in charge by governments with unfathomable promptness, not letting the media fueling minds with supernatural chimeras. Confined to special rooms, they would no longer be able to see the light of day for a while; and the case of the _mutated_ – it was how those physiologically-deviant were crudely called – faded away. At least for those who did not seek to know more.

But the utter shock that had been the nuclear incident which was neither the first, neither the last, but it had a far-reached impact. Many dwelled on the stake that were the mutated, especially those that challenged the very definition, the _essence_ of being human. Others wondered how much freaks like those could make, whatever the use of their potential buyers was. One thing leading to another, a mutated-human trafficking overlapped the well-rooted existing ones, migrants and women. In big cities, which covered 80% of the planet, people disappeared and never came back, swallowed by the abysses of organized crime. The circulation speed of real-time information connected nations, who simultaneously but superficially protested against such unpunished acts of violence. When decent wealthy people started to meet the same fate as the homeless and prostitutes, the problem changed scales. Existing security and investigation organisms, state-level or not, were quickly overwhelmed by the events. From the Pazin Tragedy flowed the criminal outbreak of 2030s.

To lessen the violence that was reigning in many countries, European governments gathered to form a special unit, freer than the police, similar to Interpol and the CIA, emancipated from most of the rules allowing criminals to slip through the net. Consequently, the agents belonging to this elitist unit were relatively widely permitted to operate, and responsible for the security of populations. Their recruitment was made in absolute secrecy, and their whole life was entirely dissected to make sure they were worthy of trust and ready to engage activity. The _Watchmen_ ’s strength consisted in their capacity to blend in the crowd, and infiltrate mafias to stack them and make them implode. It appeared thus inconceivable that with their broad range of rights, they betrayed the organization. It was a high-risked bet, but a playable one. However, one cannot control the human mind and its flaws; so it was life imprisonment to the best, or summary execution that awaited corrupted agents.

Despite the relentless and virulent debates concerning human rights, freedom, moral, and polemics brought about by the creation of such an organization, a secret decree set the birth of _Watchmen_ to fix a situation close to anarchy. The unit was officially a subdivision of police forces, to ensure a factitious transparency and allow a scope for action incredibly wide. But the methods were radically different. In 2045 the first agents were trained; and even if criminality drastically decreased in six countries, it remained too high to abandon the project.

Today, Svetlana was one of those agents. The man she had shot a short time ago ( _10:36 PM_ , noted the young woman in her head) was in close contact with Slovakian mafia, who seemed responsible for many kidnappings those last months. As a member of the _Watchmen_ , she had to perform missions handed by her boss without asking too much about it; and it perfectly suited her. She always had had a particular sense of justice, and her actual position enabled her to draw nearer to her ideal of a “pacified world”, no matter the means she had to resort to. It was fortunate that it also was the ideology of the institution for which she worked.

Leila stopped the engine and pulled the park brake; they had just arrived at the Headquarters. The two colleagues got out of the car to enter the building: it was a huge edifice, whose façade resembled a Greek pantheon, overtopped by an ultra-modern tower. Leaving the parking lot, Svetlana addressed Leila.

“You think this has to do with the disappearances in the East suburb, one way or another?”

“Honestly, if that guy was on the list, I’d be surprised to find out he was clear. Plus, why only carry around files in a bag? We would have known his involvement in drugs if we had found signs of belonging to a cartel. Except it’s not the Slovaks’ specialty.”

“So what, we give it to Wright?”

“Let’s report to her instead. As for the files, we’ll give them to Raphael. He’ll know what to do.”

Svetlana nodded in approval; she took the building’s main lift, with its glass structure, that enabled her to gaze upon the central entrance. She was reporting to the head of the _Watchmen_ institution, lightyears away from her on all levels, and not awaking any kind of positive feeling to the idea of a meeting. Svetlana quite resented her haughty attitude and was prodigiously annoyed by her. After ending the mental flogging of her superior that every employee does once in a while, Svetlana finally pushed the big glass door and entered the luxurious office. Seemed like hunting Mafiosi paid well.

“Ah, Svetlana! I did not expect such promptness. The job must have been easier than expected.”

“Mrs. Wright,” simply greeted the young woman.

“Please, have a seat. It’ll be far more convenient to talk.”

Svetlana nodded and sunk into one of the comfy chairs, facing her interlocutor. The latter, already seated, stably looked at her with clear eyes, a forged warm expression on her face. Apollina Wright was truly warm only when a case was solved, because it meant a bonus. With all the jewelry on her, she indeed could not be contented with a meagre wage: she always had a golden watch on her wrist, with bracelets and discreet ornamental chains. Furthermore, she usually wore a pair of earrings that must have worthed Svetlana’s entire wardrobe; and if she wanted to, she attached a pearl necklace around her milky neck. Her dark chestnut hair, always impeccably done in a retro style, framed her severe face somehow spared by time; though she bore the marks of a certain age, no one could have guessed she was forty-five. Finally, her trademark was carmine lipstick, day and night, as to reaffirm her femininity in a relatively masculine environment. Svetlana held her in great esteem for this; she was one of the rare women to get to the head of a _Watchmen_ unit post.

“So, what about this Dimitri Kralova?” resumed Apollina. “Anything useful for us?”

“We found a case in his personal effects that contained various files. Leila made sure to hand them to Raphael,” confirmed Svetlana.

“Good. What is his condition now?”

“He began to run when he spotted my silhouette. He was going to shoot when I hit him. Given his criminal record, I chose to take him down, in agreement with my colleague. He also was registered in our facility, because we were after him for drug-dealing suspicion. Though it was infirmed, he didn’t try to explain himself”, ironically shared the young woman.

“So be it,” settled Apollina. “No slip-up, understood? What matters is that we have what we need.”

“Yes, naturally.”

Svetlana did not question herself upon her actions; she had made researches before and had discovered Dimitri Kralova was well-known in the law-enforcement services. Alright, they were on the wrong track at first, the drug-trafficking, but they had found something better in the end. And many crimes fell to him. The woman considered herself the tool of an absolute justice; no one would miss filth like this on earth. Police owed her, and finally, it was why she was here: decrease crime at most. The conman’s death certainly would not prevent her from sleeping tight.

The director rose, her slim silhouette cut clear on the white curtains; Svetlana mirrored her instantly, arms at her side, standing guard.

“Relax, Svetlana, you are no longer in the army,” Apollina said with a smile, “although I appreciate your discipline. You can go home for now. Be there at 1PM tomorrow.”

“Thank you, I will,” she let out while exiting the room.

 _Thank God_ … Svetlana thought. _This is the first time she’s letting go so quickly_. She went up the corridor and pressed the lift’s button, all smiles thinking about her home sweet home and recovering hours of sleep. When the doors opened, she carelessly jumped into the cabin, falling on someone who was getting out. It was a man of her age, maybe younger – a worrying thing – with blonde hair and stuck out ears. The two almost collided, as Svetlana mumbled a quick _sorry_ before entering the glass cube. The young man, spontaneous and sociable, shot her a funny smile and comprehensively nodded. _New faces, again?_ She thought.

The lift began its descent smoothly, and Svetlana leaned on the panel. She was still going to wave her colleagues goodbye before going home. The cabin sunk underground, where the labs were located; Raphael had to be there, as well as Leila. When she arrived, she crossed a high metal portico that outlooked a long steel corridor with glossy reflections; big windows cut through the wall, offering a sensational view on lots of scientific tools and equipment. Svetlana then caught Raphael’s silhouette in lab n°12. She thus got into the room.

Raphael Sapiega was Svetlana’s second close colleague, with Leila. If she had to describe him in one word, she would not hesitate to employ the word _inflexible_. Because he truly was inflexible. No sense of humor, at least not the one a functioning human had; and the phrase “dressed to the nines” was still too weak for him. He had to be provided a super-powerful styling gel, since no strand of his raven-black hair went out of his dandy-like haircut. His Asian features always wore an uncommunicative expression, which dissuaded people to come his way. Concerning his clothes, it was hard to believe he worked as a scientist: he looked right out of Vogue magazine. His exacerbated taste for traditional fashion and sober suits and ties jumped to the woman’s eyes, who looked dressed in rags next to him. There again, his suits must have been worth twice Svetlana’s rent. _I can’t wait to get promoted_ , she thought to herself, _just to earn a bit more…_

Raphael assisted Apollina Wright by playing the right-hand man; those two were very often together and were quite alike. Same passion for formalities, concrete things and efficiency. First, there had been rumors about them being married, scotched at lightning speed. Then, they were believed to be secretly related. Such complicity was quite rare, especially coming from the director; but undoubtedly, the two individuals acted in harmony and Apollina completely trusted Raphael. After all, he possessed outstanding professional qualifications: after having abandoned a renowned chemistry school after two years, he attended an international relations institute, to then enter military service. Getting through open competition exams in many fields, he was noticed by the unit, towards which he was reoriented and which he rather accepted.

“Hey!” Leila chirped, next to Raphael.

“Good evening,” the man in a gray suit flatly let out.

“I came to tell you good night, because the _empress_ herself kindly dismissed me,” Svetlana said with a smile.

“Ow, lucky you! I want to go home too…” Leila answered, ironically whining like a baby, harvesting an exasperated glance from her colleague.

“Svetlana,” Raphael objected, “perhaps you’d like to know what was inside the bag, since you brought it.”

“Yes, I also came for this. You found anything, names, addresses?”

“The case contained three pictures, a proof of purchase for 1500 square foot premises, and a tablet. Of course, those are clandestine receipts, so the addresses and names used are fake.”

“Like generical names we found a dozen times before?”

“Precisely.”

“And pills? Was he sick?” Svetlana asked.

“I can’t answer that question for the time being. Nonetheless, I tried to analyze the substance’s molecular structure, and I have to say that I rarely saw such formula. It’s certainly unknown to the public: I don’t ever recall hearing about those pills,” Raphael continued.

Svetlana tried to grasp the link between the medicine and Kralova. Maybe it was for him, or for someone he knew? Or did the pills have another purpose?

“Before you ask, it’s not drugs,” Leila assured, as if she read Svetlana’s thoughts.

“I was thinking about it.”

“There is more,” noted Raphael, “the pictures. Have you seen them?”

“Erm, no. Can I?”

The black-haired man handed the three photos to the young woman, and she furrowed her brows: parts of a body could be seen, covered by a pallid skin, where were written, every time, numbers. The picture was slightly blurred, as if taken hastily, and no background could be distinguishable. Only a very closely shot area of skin and inscriptions tattooed on it were visible, alternating numbers and letters.

“Corpses?” she interrogated, grave.

“Looks like it,” Leila answered. “At least not in good health… if they’re alive.”

“And those numbers, are they references? Particular tattoos? They look like branded cattle…” Svetlana said.

“We don’t know much for the moment, as you can see,” Raphael testified. “Undoubtedly, Kralova was involved in this, and not just a little. But he wouldn’t have told you anything. Mafia code, you know.”

“And the fact that he carried paper instead of a crypted flash drive, taking enormous risks?”

“Today, it is actually more risked to transfer such data on a dematerialized platform,” confirmed the dark-haired man. “Perhaps they have computing breaches, and it’s trendy to avoid the police by printing everything and putting it in a safe.”

“Okay, let’s not hold you back anymore, right? My Lady would like to sleep, Raphael,” dramatically announced Leila.

“Yep. I’ll think about it tomorrow. You’d better have some rest too, both of you.”

“Yes, not yep,” Raphael interrupted with a sardonic air.

“Would that be a vain attempt at humor?” Leila snorted.

“Anyway, good night, see you tomorrow!” cut the young woman, leaving the two settle their accounts.

Svetlana shot a polite smile at Raphael and hugged her colleague. She went up the floors and, after dropping by the parking lot, went home, in the Western neighborhood. On her way, she admired the capital and its illuminated shops at night, opening a road of light for her. It was hard to believe that atrocious crimes were committed in such a city. Sabralis was a metropolis born from scratch, epicenter of modernity and pride of the Czech Republic; it was famous for having erected ramparts during the Pazin catastrophe. A new material had been synthesized, gammonium, lighter and more malleable than lead, capable of pushing back radiations, and was used on a large scale in Eastern Europe and China. The city was like a fresh air bubble among plains poisoned by pollution. Its sky was partly artificial, since an elaborated ventilation system akin to an imperceptible tarp covered the metropolis like a tent; attached to the ramparts, it protected twenty million people from air-carried diseases. This type of system had been adopted by almost all the other big polluted cities and was combined with massive arborization and vegetablization to purify the atmosphere. Outside those bubbles, pollution faded, and people only had to wear masks. Even if she came from a little town, Svetlana relatively felt at ease here.

Getting inside her apartment, located on the thirteenth floor of a small twenty-floored building, she realized she hadn’t checked her phone. She quickly checked if any vital information had gone over her head. A blue bubble displaying a new message lit up the screen.

“ _I’m coming for you tomorrow at 10. I need to show you this new café, it’s super cute! You can food binge with pastries. Chocolate is a bit expensive though. Ciao kiss!”_

Mei. She had completely forgotten. And her friend never came back on her word: she had the gift (or the flaw) to be stubborn as a mule. Well, after all, they would not drink tea for three hours. Svetlana could go to work afterwards. And she had promised this day out for months; by no means she could give it all up now. After answering the text, the young woman rapidly ate, took a shower and finally slipped into the comfortable covers of her bed. And almost immediately fell asleep.

The death she had caused did not prevent her from sleeping.

_Sabralis, 9:12 AM_

The agreeable sound of waves filled the room. It was a very satisfying alarm when one needed to uproot his body out of the covers, an activity Svetlana loathed. The clock now showed 9:13 AM; the young woman gathered all her goodwill to straighten up and leave her bed’s warmth. She put on her clothes, had a breakfast and checked her phone: five unread texts, all from Mei, simply announcing her imminent coming with an energy still foreign to the Russian, especially at nine in the morning.

The young woman went one last time by her mirror observing every detail: her clothes were quite simple, but decent for a day out with a friend. A white top, without patterns, underlined her wide shoulders; she added a light brown leather jacket, a bit overused, but cherished. She had donned a navy-blue jean full of pockets and overlooked by a belt; finally, she wore boots up to ankles, practical. Svetlana found herself neither particularly ugly, nor excessively beautiful, and found the mythical beauty of Russian women a bit stupid. She had an angular lower face, paradoxically childish, almost dollish, that contrasted with her icy gray gaze, topped by heavy eyelids, a distinctive feature of Southern Slavs. Her lips were full, slightly darker than her sometimes tan complexion, and partook in completing her nonchalant expression. As for her nose, it was straight and ending flat. Svetlana frequently tied her hair in a ponytail or a bun for efficiency, and when she had the time, she braided it like her cousin taught her. She had often been told they had a strange color: originally, they oscillated between chestnut and Venetian blonde; but she had died the ends in indigo blue. She did not even remember why she had done this. Maybe she would go full-blue one day.

A deafening ringing pulled the woman out of her reverie. She uselessly checked the face of her interlocutor thanks to a screen, since Mei’s high-pitched voice resonated.

“You didn’t forget me I hope?”

“Never, who kind of person do you think I am?”

“You know, your memory feats will always surprise me… Come on, we have croissant to eat!”

She was a great friend of Svetlana’s since the latter had arrived to Sabralis, a year ago. The two had randomly met in a café, Mei not being able to get rid of an insistent young man. Svetlana had defended her back then. Despite her polar different characters, they got along right away.

The third ringing pushed Svetlana to jump down the stairs hastily. The two women proceeded to get to the city center to enjoy the café Mei was talking about. Always up for this kind of excursion, she still was a hard-working person; being in her fifth year of medical studies, she had brilliantly passed all her exams. Naturally joyful and enthusiastic, she always brought along her good mood, and transmitted it to everyone around. She was not tall but did not hesitate to rudely send irritating people off. Surely the reason Svetlana and she became friends. Mei was also very coquette and possessed an inborn sense of fashion; she tied her long jet-black hair in many inventive ways, made up her dark eyes with elegant shades and her lips with pale pink or fruited red, depending on her mood.

“So, how is the job?” shot Mei.

“Erm, rather, yes… well… as usual you know.”

“Mmh. Sounds fascinating… And the rest? It’s been three months.”

“Oh you know, nothing really special… I just crossed paths with a newbie yesterday, I have no idea what his deal is. He looked like a kid,” Svetlana said, astonished.

“You’re not nice with him!” the young Asian girl laughed, and insistently looked at the other.

“What?”

“Is he handsome?”

“Mei, I am not your personal match-maker!”

After a drink in the 1960-style café, the medical student proposed to stroll along the canal, a privileged place to rest after a long stressful week. The two went along one of the big avenues to cross a little park where pensioners, families and joggers enjoyed the bit of nature.

Suddenly, a movement caught the eye of the young Russian. She spotted a police squad rush outside the park. Unaware, she dragged her friend on their path, attempting at understanding what was going on. Although Svetlana was quicker to perceive the police presence, Mei understood as well that something was not right; and they finally got to the canal. As they were only a few steps away from the gathering, a voice tore the air.

“Get back, this is a secured zone!”

Twenty agents were getting busy around the left bank of the canal, which blocked the view of the two friends.

“Mei, I have a bad feeling about this, step back, please,” Svetlana instructed.

“Is it related to your job? Is it serious?”

“I’d prefer you stay away. I’m used to it, don’t worry.”

“I’ll have you know I have seen more bodies than you think, and everything inside them!”

“I know,” the Russian made a face, “but it’s in any case an area for law-enforcement agents. I’ll be right back.”

Svetlana pulled away, leaving Mei on the edge of the park, making her way through the policemen.

“I told you to get back!” thundered the same man, rushing to the young woman. She held high her police badge, projecting a four-inches high hologram in the air.

“Mh, I suppose you can get through. But see with my superior if you can go farther.”

At the same time, a black thirty-year old man, with a worn-out air, moved towards her.

“Lieutenant Yann Kouassi, nice to meet you, Mrs…”

“Walker.”

Kouassi’s face abruptly changed.

“ _Ah_. You’re Watchmen, right? You’re really young.”

“Erm… yes, but how can a lieutenant-“

“My own superior doesn’t like you much, and she knows every unit member’s profile,” Yann smiled foggily. I hang out with her a lot, so she rubbed off me, especially when she drops names.”

“Commandant Zeman, right?”

“Yes.”

Svetlana refrained herself from rolling her eyes. She continued.

“Either way, I was passing by, and… Can I see what’s behind? What causes such… great stir?”

“Please make yourself at home.”

The young woman went by the lieutenant to arrive at the canal’s bank, whose edge was blurred by long grass and reeds, emerging from a greenish water. The half-naked body of a forty-year old man had been extracted from it. His eyes, entirely revolved, seemed to look away from the tattoo that bore his clavicle, and from the wounds in his abdomen. There was no “classical” murder trademark: no bullet impact, no gaping hole nor stabs, no strangulation. The victim was simply covered by a multitude of blisters and stripped of skin here and there, as if he had been splashed with acid.

“Yeah, it’s a bit hard so early in the morning,” the lieutenant acknowledged. “But I guess you’re kind of used to it.”

“I’ve seen worse,” Svetlana affirmed. “Can I move closer? I’d like to examine that tattoo.”

“Go ahead, just don’t touch it.”

The young woman headed towards the victim, and lengthily observed the letters and numbers inked onto the man’s livid skin. Undoubtedly, it was one of the bodies on the pictures carried by Kralova. Remained to be determined if the numbers corresponded to them, and if there were other victims. She was intimately persuaded to have seen long hair on one of the pictures yesterday evening; except the man lying at her feet had it cut short.

“So?” Kouassi asked, after joining her.

“I find it strange. I’ll try to inquire about it, maybe it’s just a distinctive coded mafia tattoo, or else. You found only this guy today?”

“Indeed. Are there others?”

“I can’t answer that question for the moment,” Svetlana lied.

Yes, as a Watchman, she could ask for the police’s help, but she was not habilitated to divulge crucial information, such as the existence of other bodies on the pictures. Simply about discretion. On the other hand, as soon as she or anybody else would be ordered to, the Headquarters would share intel for a potential group operation. She had to learn about the case the best she could, without endangering the “low-scale” investigation managers.

Svetlana quickly made a phone call to Raphael, reporting to him what she had seen. The black-haired man confirmed the case came under their authority as the police was discharged, like a morbid relay one team passes to another.

“Thank you for your intervention,” Svetlana resumed, turning to Kouassi. “We’ll take the case. Please address our documentation department if you obtain any additional intel.”

“Well, it was short-lived,” retorted the lieutenant. “Our intervention.”

“Look, this is related to criminals we know and have been monitoring for years. We are thus more suited to conduct the case.”

“Don’t worry, no big deal for me,” the man guffawed. “But it’s my superior you’ll hear about.”

“I’m sorry about that, that’s the way things are. Goodbye,” she ended.

“Yes, goodbye.”

Svetlana walked away from the crime scene, her back to the lieutenant; his irritation was perceptible, but the young woman could not do much about it. The appearance of Watchmen had questioned the police’s efficiency and triggered a few tensions between the two groups. A lot of “dirty” cases were relegated to the organization, judged more pragmatic and less “lumbered” with judiciary procedures. The young Russian swept aside those futile rivalries which only delayed the case’s solving.

Mei had returned inside the park, a bit confused to have been side-lined. She could have used her medical knowledge or helped in any way. The cops world really was closed, and Svetlana was snatched up by it. Her friend claimed she was part of a special unit, but she never wore any kind of uniform. Mei knew how important the job was, but it began suspicious. Svetlana always had irrational schedules that took away her sleeping time. She did not go out, never had been to any party and when she left the country, it was, once again, for her job. She was so young for this kind of job…

Svetlana’s deep voice pulled her away from her thoughts.

“Sorry Mei, I didn’t want it to go that way…”

“No, I’m not mad at you, are you crazy? Duty called! But were you on duty though?”

“Mei…”

“It’s not against you,” she corrected, “I’m just wondering… if one day you’ll truly rest. Cops can’t be on every case simultaneously in the city, can they?”

“It’s confidential, and you know it,” Svetlana tried.

Mei took a deep breath, raising her hand in a surrendering gesture. “No, I apologize. I’m a bit on edge those last days,” she confessed.

“Then I’m here to hear you out,” Svetlana assured.

The young student shot her a bright smile, saying how she preferred this to the corpses; making Svetlana bashfully laugh.

_12:37 AM_

“And then I told him: you look like an old pair of sneakers. Useless, old-fashioned and destined to wade around in the mud.”

“It is… violent,” guffawed the Russian.

“He insulted me in front of my head teacher! My head teacher!” Mei cried out.

“Yeah, okay, got it. You did good. I would have done the same, but less elegantly,” answered Svetlana while peeking at her watch.

“You have to go, right?”

“I have to be there in fifteen minutes. Another day out soon?” she asked.

“Roger. And don’t forget to introduce me to your colleagues one day. Especially the new blonde one.”

“I don’t even know who he is, and I don’t care! Anyways, bye!”

“Yeah, off you go!” Mei exclaimed, waving the other goodbye.

The Russian mirrored her gesture and headed towards the metro station.

She went through a range of metal porticos that remained mute despite the CZ100 and the Glock 38 on her belt. A chip had been attributed to her when she integrated the Watchmen; developed by high-profile engineers, it countered any scanner technology so that the agents could operate armed during the missions. Svetlana sat on a seat with a torn backrest, foam beads gushing out of the patterned PVC. She laid her head against the window, tipped backwards, and thought about the body. Tattooed numbers – it could be anything. References, characteristics, serial numbers? There were endless possibilities. Usually, the belonging to a terrorist or mafia group was encapsulated by a symbolic tattoo, not digits. Besides, how to explain the blisters and the torn skin? A criminal settling his score would not go to all the trouble to mutilate the body; it could be the work of a maniac. But a psychotic episode would have unleashed more violence; and the traces of a violent death were nowhere to be found. Indeed, how did he die? Poisoning? Drowning? All those questions swirled inside Svetlana’s mind. But thanks to her job, the one Mei did not appreciate, she would perhaps get the answers she was looking for. Thanks to her job, Svetlana would never go through what had happened ten years ago again.

A shaking in the tunnel suddenly drew her away from her reflexion. She had clammy hands, and a vivid headache almost made her pass out. She needed to go out, to let the fresh air fill her lungs; thus, she got out one station earlier.

The young woman still had time. She crossed two crowded vast avenues, whose roads were filled with public transportation, air buses and tramways. There was as much people as in the metro but being outside reassured Svetlana and her temporary fever faded.

The young woman reached the Headquarters seven minutes later. She pushed the giant glass doors and almost felt home. Like every day for a year, she walked along the vast marble room to get to the Cabinet, where she received most of her instructions. She took a big corridor to her favourite lift, and when the doors opened, she was surprised by a new face, again. The second since last night.

A younger man with a tanned complexion and sea green eyes shyly greeted her, a bit lost. He was wearing a white blouse reserved to the scientific unit: he was either a doctor, either a chemist. Good, because his round face only conveyed goodness. Before appearing rude, she answered with the same tone.

“Soan Tarabik,” he shot, extending his hand. Svetlana was a bit taken aback by the gesture.

“Erm, Svetlana Walker,” she answered, shaking the hand.

“I’m new here and… I must say I’m lost!” he said to soften the atmosphere. I’ve been hired as a nurse. And, erm… you?”

He had to be under twenty-two, and seemed distraught by the degree of familiarity he had to use with the woman.

“I’m a field agent. They send me to neutralize threats. And no need to be ceremonial with me.”

“Oh, that’s cool!” he continued, more relaxed. “So if you’re hurt, you, the agents, I’ll be stitching you up.”

“Okay then, I’m reassured,” Svetlana said with a smile. She had to got out, and moved to the door.

“Nice to meet you anyway. Bye!”

“Me too,” she said with a hand gesture.

There had to be a wide crop of new recruits, since so many unknown faces appeared in the halls. The young woman crossed another corridor and entered the Cabinet.

This huge office was circular, with off-white walls enlivened by a few photos, names and maps. Some old-school adepts still had cork boards to which they pinned all useful intel. Enormous shelves took up the remaining space, a fragment of the total quantity of archives. Incidentally, desks were disposed in a semi-circular way: forming rows of five alternating like on a target, they made long curved clear bands where files, phones and cutting-edge tools piled up. Everything converged towards a handful of central monitors that displayed prime information.

Svetlana caught a glimpse of a now familiar silhouette, Leila. Hearing the door open, she turned around and warmly greeted her colleague with open arms.

“Here is the champ’!” she exclaimed, subtle as always.

“Hey!”

“Raphael told me about the river thing. Too bad you saw it outside of work.”

“Yeah, you’re damn right.”

“Anyways,” Leila continued. “We have a name. It’s not great, but we have to visit her, she might help.”

“Go ahead.”

“Ivana Kralova. Dimitri Kralova’s sister.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“I don’t _need_ your sarcastic comments, Svetlana Walker. However, you’ll go with me to talk to her, as good field agents,” Leila chanted.

“Ok boss.”

Svetlana was not passionate about interrogations; everything that required extended social interactions with an unknown person worried her a little. The two colleagues informed the Cabinet and left. The few minutes required to get to the address allowed them to talk about the case.

“Raphael told me everything was connected,” Svetlana began.

“He’s not wrong, I think. We’ve been given images of the body, and those are the same “symptoms” as in Kralova’s pics.”

“It’s lieutenant Kouassi who… gave them to you?”

“His team, yeah. Why, is there a problem?” Leila asked.

“No no, don’t worry. He just looked recalcitrant this morning,” Svetlana noted. “He didn’t seem to like the Watchmen.”

“Well, who does?” retorted her colleague. “Almost no law applies to us. Of course, we got better over time, with research, documentation and medical units. But vulgarly speaking, this organization is only a bunch of mercenaries in cop clothes. And with a budget.”

“You’re hard on yourself, and on us. We’re efficient, that’s my impression,” inquired Svetlana.

“Yeah, at what price, that is the question… Maybe you’re right. Numbers are on our side.”

“Yep.”

Leila abruptly steered. “Sorry, didn’t see the street!” she apologized. The address shown on the car hologram matched the one facing them. A small building rose in front of them, ancient style, displaying a blue plate indicating “53 B”. They walked to the entrance and opened the door thanks to a special polyform key coming straight from the Headquarters. They finally reached apartment 7, where supposedly was Ivana Kralova. Leila dryly rang twice.

A thirty-five-year old woman, small in stature, quite skinny, opened the door; a chain kept the door mostly closed.

“You are?” she defiantly asked.

“Lieutenant Svoboda. And my intendent Larissa,” Leila lied.

“Hm, police? And your badges?”

“Right away.” She then made sure to show forged holograms to Ivana.

“Alright. It’s about my brother, right?” she said, exhausted.

Svetlana was surprised she reacted so quickly. Perhaps was she used to her brother’s felonies.

“I’ll tell you that inside,” pressured Leila.

Ivana was compelled to open up if she wanted to know what had happened; she considered it a duty, to know about her brother’s situation, though she did not want to. She perfectly knew he was involved in corrupt deals, and she had hated him for that; she genuinely could close the door, trying to send off those officers; but she did not. And she was not acquainted enough with the judicial system to know when policemen exceeded the limits. Ivana unlocked the door and took the chain off; she then gestured to make the two women come in.

The furnishing of the main room was charged, and Svetlana almost tripped because of an old-yellow pouffe in the middle of the way. Golden frames topped by dozens of family pictures were clipped onto the flowered walls; the chandelier, imposing but factitious, was hesitantly hanging above their heads. Three big overused leather couches furnished the whole space, placed on carpets as colorful as the wallpaper; finally, dressers spruced up the rest of the room, dotted with knick-knacks and religious icons.

“Practicing, Mrs. Kralova?” Leila started.

“Sometimes,” she confessed with a sad grin. “Well, Dimitri would like hearing this. Sit down.”

Ivana looked simultaneously worn-out and anxious. She studied Svetlana with half-closed eyes, filled with a repressed uneasiness. She did not offer them anything.

“So, go ahead now that we’re here,” she finally murmured.

“Mrs. Kralova, our visit today is due to your brother’s deeds. Well, partially,” began Leila.

“Yes, I would have guessed, mind you,” she spit out.

“It has nothing to do with you,” Svetlana raised.

“Oh, you believe so?”

“I’m just saying your brother is responsible of his actions. You won’t get in trouble with the police.”

“Of course. I believe you,” she shot sarcastically.

“Ma’am,” Leila called. “Your brother acted on behalf of a Slovakian mafia. He was a criminal,” she abruptly said, cutting short to the courteous prevarication.

Ivana paused. She knew something serious was going on, but now, it pushed boundaries. Her boundaries.

“You’re telling me he… killed people?” she feebly inquired.

“Among other things. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. He should…” she continued, teary-eyed.

“Well, precisely…” Leila chose her next words carefully. “He’s no longer alive.”

This time, Ivana utterly froze. Her whole body rigidified, and her blue eyes seemed washed from their color. She straightened up, quietly articulating.

“He’s dead?”

Svetlana was taken aback by her calm, probably due to shock. But the young Russian started to feel bad too: after all, she was responsible for the man’s death, and she was sitting in front of his sister. And yet, she felt no remorse. As she said earlier, the deeds of one person did not involve the other. And Dimitri Kralova was a crook, even if Ivana was not.

“If you need a moment…” Svetlana began.

“N-No. I’m fine. Continue, please,” Ivana cut off. “I knew this day would come… But… I guess I refused to see it coming.”

Leila shot an inquiring eye to Svetlana, astonished by the woman’s astounding self-control. She still resumed.

“We found some elements that let us think he… was involved in alleged serial murders.”

“Mmh,” Ivana grimaced.

“Are you sure…?”

“It’s fine, I told you.”

“We just wish to know if you’re acquainted with anyone who could have given him intel, who would have helped him. If you were close enough to him.”

“No one comes to my mind… I didn’t even get in contact with him those last days.”

“A colleague? A friend?”

“He had none. He told me nothing,” she declared. “I know get why.”

Svetlana spoke up. “And someone he crossed paths with? Not mandatorily with whom he had bonded.”

“I really have no idea…” Ivana whispered, rubbing her temples.

“And who you also appear to know?”

“Are you now accusing me of being his accomplice?” the woman said, visibly offended.

“No… I’m just cross-checking findings.” Ivana now looked passably irritated. It was without a doubt the worst day of her boring life.

“In any case, I can’t blame myself for anything.”

“Then you’re free to answer the question, Mrs,” Svetlana maintained her gaze.

“I’ll take the lead, _Larissa_ ,” Leila objected.

The young Russian seemed to mutely apologize and stood up to wait in the corridor. _Everything in this house is truly ugly_ , she thought. She was offered a breathtaking view on the bathroom, as flowered as the rest of the apartment, in pastel pink shades; she heard her colleague’s voice still running the poor Ivana. Well, maybe she was being more tactful. Svetlana needed to improve there.

She kept examining the bathroom and felt an inner tickle. She needed to check this room out, something was fishy about it, apart from the horrible deco. She perfectly knew no one ever made hunch-based conclusions, but her own had not yet disappointed. The young woman processed to slowly move into the shower room; fortunately enough, the floor was not creaking under her imposing combat boots. She came closer and crossed the threshold, observing the little room; there was everything a normal human being used when cleaning up. Bathtub, sink, beauty products, medicine… Svetlana carefully opened the drawer that contained a dozen cosmetics; she scrutinized every bottle, every tube, and every pot. Anti-wrinkle, highlighter, nothing escaped the commonplace.

Then, she fell on a completely white tube; stripped of any label, the only touch of color being its blue cap. The young woman took it without making a sound and opened the tube. A whitish cream was filling it. Nothing unusual. She pressed the tube, so that the substance came out, and studied it under the dim light. Convinced of its inoffensive aspect but intrigued by the originality of it, she squeezed a drop in the palm of her hand. Svetlana felt coolness, and nothing. Suddenly, her skin burned like a blazing fire; she brusquely dropped the tube, alerting Leila and Ivana.

“What are you doing?” Leila raised her voice from the other side of the corridor.

“Nothing, I just needed…” Svetlana sought a plausible excuse. “I needed to cool off. Sorry to have used the bathroom unauthorized.”

She grabbed back the fallen product after putting her wound under water. _What kind of crap is this?_ She told herself. She caught up with her colleague and Kralova.

“Mrs, cooling off, I unwillingly laid eyes on an unknown product. Who provided you with that?”

“I’d like it if you didn’t rifle through my stuff,” Ivana hissed. “You already come in here, tell me my brother’s dead, that he’s involved in dirty stuff and now this! Do you have manners or what?”

“I’m sorry, truly. It just sparked my curiosity. And we still have mitigating factors that lead us to suspect you,” she reminded. Ivana sat back in her chair, vexed but ashamed, and resumed speaking more calmly.

“Dimitri gave me that cream. I forgot to throw it away. I had terrible shoulder depigmentation, so he told me it’d work. And I tried it.”

“And… did it work?” Svetlana asked, keeping her burn in mind.

“You kidding? It did more harm than good. It was supposed to be some kind of miraculous avant-garde thing, and it just scrapped my shoulder off, made me sick… Fortunately, he paid me the dermatology scanner session,” Ivana admitted. “I don’t see how it’s relevant for you.”

Leila once again interrogated Svetlana with an inquisitive gaze; she rightfully knew those questions were not trivial.

“And may I know why you’re bothering Mrs. Kralova that way?”

“I just want to check something,” the young woman answered. “How affected was your shoulder? Precisely?”

Svetlana briefly glanced at her red hand, hidden to the two other women; the ghost of a blister stained the area in contact with the cream.

“First, I lost some skin, then I got blisters. Only a few.”

“Thank you for your cooperation.”

“How is this murder-related?” Ivana maintained, upset.

“Ma’am, calm down,” Leila interrupted with a louder voice. “We won’t bother you any longer. Just one last question.”

“Just make it quick,” she sighed.

“Do you know who provided your brother with the product?” Leila asked. Ivana furrowed her brows in anger.

“The only person who would have given this is our cousin. He’s a courier for several firms and they exchange things. But never drugs, or anything serious. Why, though? He lives far away, he only saw him… he _never_ saw Dimitri.”

“His name, please,” Leila requested.

Kralova dithered for a few seconds; she told herself that every member of her family was cursed.

“Jelinek. Gustav. But once again, he’s just a courier. And an honest man.”

“Promises are made to be kept. We’re leaving you alone,” Leila affirmed. “I left my number on the table if you need us.”

And the two agents left the apartment, letting Ivana Kralova dwell on her memories and her lonely grieving.

_Eastern suburb of Sabralis,_ _Vavřín neighborhood, 1:45 PM_

The muffled sound of a breaking bone filled the garage. The building was used as a warehouse and a meeting point, rustic, but secure. Covered up by an old Lebanese restaurant sign, no one would ever guess it was the scene of unprecedented violence, especially in this peaceful neighborhood. It was the perks of such a place: raising Intern Security’s suspicions late. Lukas did not comprehend why those drug-dealing simpletons gathered in the same area. It only made the Watchmen’s task easier to find them. Speaking of it, he had to put his old friends in order, just to make sure they do not “inadvertently” snitch on him.

Lukas was angry. _Very_ angry. He had tried to contain his outbursts, but it was so much easier to hit sometimes. It spared long unfruitful discussions, making him lose time and money. And he could vent his frustration, especially when the guy in front of him had an unsufferable face. But despite every blow he had given in his life, Lukas felt a stabbing pain in his right hand. He wondered if he was getting old already, and disdainfully looked at the man at his feet.

“I’d like you to repeat what you told me,” he spit out. “So I can drill you one more time.”

“I told you, it’s not my fault, shit!” shouted the man lying on the floor, his nose bloody. “I did my job, he was the one to screw up!”

He spit a tooth on the ground, in pain, and vainly held his nose to stop the bleeding.

“I don’t give a shit,” Lukas continued. “Whatever his problem is, he’s dead now. And many important things did with him. What am I telling the other?”

“Look, maybe they haven’t found the pics. The rest, we don’t care!” the other tried, to soothe his interlocutor’s rage.

“They took everything, for fuck’s sake!” Lukas shouted. He then proceeded to kick him in the ribs, cutting short to his breathing. He rapidly paced afterwards, looking for a way out. At the same moment, another man, who had been standing next to the madman since the beginning, spoke up.

“Better keep a low profile in the future,” he began. “But it doesn’t mean they know everything. They just have the start of it.”

Lukas turned to him with bloodshot eyes, and raised an incredulous brow.

“They literally dissolved the Vukovi, you dumbass! How much time do we have left before they get to us, huh?”

“Yes, but if we put them on the wrong track, they’ll be slowed down. They’ll see connections where they aren’t any.”

“Well, since you’re so smart, asshole, you do it. Me, I’ll hide out,” Lukas declared before spitting on the ground. “As for you, you’re lucky to stay alive,” he told the man laying down. “Fix your shit or you’ll end up like the others.”

Lukas turned his heels, taking a cigarette out. Then he got out of the building, hitting in a trash can. The man who had tried to calm him down emerged too, thinking about fixing the situation. If he failed, he could say goodbye to his career. The idea that sprouted in his mind appeared like a claw pulling him out of the bloodbath Lukas prepared for him.

He knew that someone took care of delivering products to be tested under the table. But his name escaped him… Dimitri’s cousin. If he managed to frame him, it would delay the cops and the rest. The man paced a little under the rain, in the alley dirtied by mud.

Oh! It came back to him. He was going to use Gustav Jelinek as a scapegoat.

_Ostrava, Eastern Czech Republic, 2:48 PM_

Gustav Jelinek had not chosen to be involved in mafia stuff.

He just wanted to help his cousin who begged him to take the job, a huge sum of money in the balance on top of that. He was a relatively ordinary man, married with two children, who had worked his whole life for the sake of their happiness. However, life had not been so easy on him in return; and Jelinek had been through some several difficult periods that had put him to the test. Accepting to become a “courier” for Dimitri Kralova, his cousin with whom he got along, perhaps he could exit the impasse he had been in. None of it was legal; but after so many years of struggling with his grunt work, his complicated family situation and his declining health, Jelinek saw in this job an inestimable way out. Pancreas cancer treatment costed him a bomb.

This was why he would drive tomorrow to Sabralis. He had been in contact with one of the ex-Vukovi, this gang specialized in arms and works of art trafficking, who wanted to meet at the capital for another big errand. Nothing inspired trust to his eyes, but Jelinek _needed_ money. He got out of what served as his bedroom, reluctantly kissed his wife goodbye as usual, waved at his kids who had already taken their eyes off him, and packed his things.

_Sabralis, Watchmen Headquarters, the same moment_

Leila pushed the Cabinet door, followed closely by Svetlana. They had quickly made it back to report what Ivan had told them. Among the next-generation screens and the colored holograms, the two women made their way to the central computer, one of the biggest search engines in the world. This antiqued machine remained one of the best tools you could count on when criminals used archaic technologies; and Leila expected to exploit it. She stopped when she saw Raphael’s slim silhouette behind the screen.

“Well, you beat us to the punch!” she exclaimed.

“Not exactly,” he affirmed. “I believe you detain more accurate information than I do.”

“Not wrong,” Svetlana added.

“Find everything you can on Gustav Jelinek, a _freelance_ courier,” Leila continued. “Kralova’s sister gave us his name after Svetlana outraged her.”

“As you finish speaking, it’s already done,” Raphael intoned. “I’ll have everything sorted out in fifteen minutes.”

Upon those words, he took his eyes off his colleagues and immersed himself in the suspect’s file. Leila turned to Svetlana.

“Show me your hand,” she demanded.

“It’s nothing, it’ll fade in two days.”

“Yeah, after your hand fell off! Show me before I get angry.” Svetlana sighed and extended her wounded hand. Leila examined it.

“Skin is coming off,” she noted. “And I think the blister is filled with pus.”

“Ew,” Svetlana said.

“It’s not funny. Those are the same symptoms as in the pics,” she raised. “You’re lucky the new nurse is here. Go see him, now.”

“No need, Leila. You’re worried about nothing,” she whined, “I just put like, a small amount of that thing.”

“I’ll walk you downstairs, Blister,” Leila cut off. “Raphael! Beep us if anything new comes up.”

The well-suited man imperceptibly nodded, and Leila took Svetlana one floor down; meanwhile, they discussed Jelinek’s fate, and what kind of evolutions could be awaited. If the man was in town, they would have no problem finding him and make him talk; on the other hand, if the mafia held anything against him, it could not get to him before the Watchmen. Time was short, and Svetlana was slowing everybody down because of her recklessness. She complained one last time of how useless a nurse was, before being launched into the nursery by Leila, who left right away to help Raphael.

The young Russian held her hand. She could always argue it was neglectable, it hurt like hell. Before she could take another peek, a white-bloused young man came to her.

“Oh, but it’s you!” he chirped. “Svetlana, right?”

“Ah, Soan… Tarabik?”

“Yep, that’s it,” he approved with a big smile. “So, what brings you here already?”

“Erm… I just… I hurt my hand. Kind of dumb, but it burns,” she explained, visibly embarrassed.

“Show me.”

Soan carried a thorough examination of the wound. “It strongly resembles the pictures’ wounds,” he resumed, to Svetlana’s surprise. “Yeah, I saw them. But it’s like an ‘early stage’ of the burn, not exactly the same. The victims no longer have prominent blisters like yours. And they have traces of increased chemical burns, as if they’d touched chemical weapons agents, like phosgene oxime.

Svetlana side-eyed him with pain, implying she had given up on chemistry a long time ago. Soan apologized and carried on. “You, on the other hand – no pun intended – you have, as I said, a relatively recent blister. Maybe there was a poisonous agent, or an uncontrolled vegetal substance that was introduced in what burned you. Bottom line, if it’s the same person that produced that crap, they changed formulas in-between: you, the small blisters, and the others… third-degree burns. Of course, no symptom excludes another, but fortunately, it lost intensity with you.”

“O…kay,” Svetlana answered. “That’s good to know.”

“Where did you find this?”

“At Ivana’s, Dimitri’s sister. But you may not know the whole story. Anyways, it’s an unreferenced cream tube one of the targets had tried. On the sister.”

“Nice,” the nurse ironically said. “Maybe time to treat you, right?”

“Good idea.” Her head began spinning.

Raphael typed on his tactile keyboard almost naturally, as if the gest were innate. It had been ten minutes he cross-checked all the data concerning Jelinek, the Kralovas, and the potential corpses presenting the pictures’ symptoms. As the only link brought to light was the family tie between the two men, he focused on what drew Jelinek to work on this job. And something caught his attention: the courier had booked a plane ticket for Laos one month ago. For someone who had never crossed the Czech border, the trip was rather exotic and unexpected.

_Sabralis center, Police Station, 8:23 PM_

The night was not dark. The sky was of an extremely dark blue, without nonetheless turning black. It was as if a supernatural entity had spilled ink on the country; there were no clouds, and no stars. A fresh wind blew upon the metropolis, engulfing inside the air inlets and even making a few decorative shrubs ploy, too feeble to resist. Although the weather was not suitable for an evening walk, there still were crowds in the vast avenues; and the million colored neons of the city seemed to pierce the immense celestial blanket. Sabralis was a very dynamic city; despite the late hour, every urban attraction was in full swing. Some people, to their own detriment, still worked at that time. It was Livia Zeman’s case, commandant of the Czech police, in charge with Sabralis’ security.

If at the start of her career, Livia had only witnessed a few trivial felonies – with one exception in Russia – she now watched a criminal upsurge, whether it was individual or organized. Resource depletion and lack of trust in governments stimulated the appearance of smuggles, of any kind, and crystallized frustrations. It troubled her more and more, even if she knew they had one active _Watchmen_ unit.

 _The Watchmen,_ she thought with disdain. _Just a pretty name to call obedient mercenaries._

Livia did not like those _people’s_ work. Just like her colleague, and every of her predecessors. Since the organization’s creation, something that outgrew rivalry settled between it and the police. Worse than to question law-enforcement’s efficiency, the Watchmen jeopardized the foundation of a rule of law State. We really had gotten there. Evidently, Livia condoned in no way criminal deeds, but she could not help but feel contempt towards those outlaw legionaries; more than anything, she _distrusted_ them. In the end, they acted like the malefactors they were after.

The commandant was still in her office when her phone’s ringtone woke her up. It was her subordinate, Yann Kouassi, calling her.

“Commandant Zeman, I’m listening,” she shot.

“Lieutenant Kouassi, commandant. I have to urgently tell you that a peacekeeper team found a body… and its pieces.”

“I was right to eat beforehand,” she sarcastically retorted. “Where? When? Are you sure it’s not the same as this morning?”

“So, in order: Northern part of the city, in one of the Vltava artificial delta’s mouths, not even ten minutes ago. It’s a small patrol that found it, and no, it’s not the same guy,” he finally concluded.

“Damn it.”

“Just tell us how to proceed onwards, commandant.”

“I’m getting to it. You know what? Get five more people. Ah, and call Amarilis too.”

“Just that?” the lieutenant chuckled. “I mean, right now, commandant.”

“With all due respect, I’m the one who gives orders. Get busy, I have a bad feeling.”

And she immediately hung up.

_Vltava artificial delta, 8:45_

The water powerfully flowed along the canals forming the delta; and the ripples that had hit the muddy embankments seemed to have spat out parts of what once had been a man. Since the gruesome discovery by a field unit patrolling in the area, an additional police squad had been summoned to study the case.

In the vast expanse that night made look greyish, a police car roughly parked in the middle of the prohibited area, and a noticeably irritated woman got out of the vehicle to rush towards the crime scene. The lieutenant had always considered his superior intimidating before pretty; but undeniably, with her ginger hair tied up, her big bright green eyes and her freckled porcelain face, she let no one marble. Being an incorrigible charmer, Yann Kouassi had repeatedly tried to appease her with jokes, compliments; a fatal mistake, truly. Livia Zeman was far too busy, for instance finding who had fun chopping people off and letting others fish them up. The woman urged everyone with a thunderous voice.

“Are we going to fish one in every European river?”

“Commandant Zeman,” Kouassi simply answered with a polite smile. Why did you take the trouble to travel here yourself, if I may?”

“You may, and I don’t see what’s making you smile. Unless an armless dead man is funny to you.”

“I had no intention of offending you, commandant. It’s just that usually, you stay at the station. Like a commandant.” Yann realized too late that his sarcasms would only bring him trouble.

“And like a commandant, I suggest you tone down. I came because that case is taking concerning proportions. A body like this one was found _in town_ this very morning,” she reminded. “You should know, you were there. It’s starting to be dangerous for the people. And we don’t even know where the corpses come from.”

“I understand your concern, commandant,” Yann calmed her down. “But at least, we are certain it’s not a Watchmen blunder.”

“And I’m supposed to like that?” Livia resentfully shot as an answer.

“Look, I know you don’t hold them close to your hear…”

“No one does.”

“… But I spoke to one of their agents this very morning, and they had no links with the case. It’s been confirmed by bonding agents.”

“Mmh, I know,” she said, unconvinced.

Livia turned her head to gaze at the agents securing the perimeter, as doctors bent down on the new body. Just like the previous one, it was livid; but it could have been water-induced hydrocution. It was yet another man, but with way darker skin; he was completely bald and covered with little blisters and burns. His forearm ended in a rounded portion; his hand had been severed. But not savagely. It was akin to surgical operation, meticulously planned. A _H28439_ inscription darkened his calf. Commandant Zeman, who had studied the provisory file this morning, spoke up.

“I want to know what those numbers are. Enter them in the database,” she ordered. “As for the burns, I’ve seen too much. What kind of psychopath burns his victim with acid?”

“Well, you have the answer to your question,” another voice filled the night.

Another woman had materialized beside Livia, who was so startled that she refrained a jump. The first one quickly bent down on the corpse, trying to push aside those who dealt with the armless man. Her black eyes scrutinized the body, and her thin dark braid fell from her back upon her shoulder. She then bounced back like a cat, and put her hair behind her neck, watching Livia.

“Amarilis, stop barging in like that,” Livia began.

“Good evening, commandant,” the woman serenely said. She also greeted Yann.

“What do you mean, the answer to my question?”

“Commandant, by definition, a psychopath does things to his victims that are incomprehensible to the common mortal.”

“And they tattooes numbers too?”

“Oh you know… A maniac can have weird fantasies.”

“You really have a degree in psychology?”

Yann then took part to the conversation. “If I’m not mistaken, the two bodies have great similarities. So it may be serial murders. Which is coherent with the hypothesis of a guy who has violent psychotic episodes.”

“We’re not sure of that,” the commandant replied. “Furthermore, this one has no hand. You really leave out the hypothesis of accounts being settled?”

“Well, maybe there was a program change. Or an incident that led to the severing of the said hand.”

“It’s not one suspect, I also vote in favor of organized crime,” Amarilis added. “We know the branding is not, of all evidence, a big weird manic fantasy.”

“Mmh,” Livia mumbled, once again unconvinced, and annoyed the Watchmen were in the running. “It may look strange, but we can’t close our eyes on an organized crime blunder. Even if the other alternative is plausible.”

“Mmh,” mimicked Amarilis. She could only do this because she got along with the commandant. Livia settled for a vaguely exasperated glare.

The three police officers discussed a bit longer, Livia entrusting Amarilis with the direction of investigations and overall monitoring of Watchmen. As for Yann, he would handle the following events.

_Eastern suburb of Sabralis, 9:30PM_

Jelinek had arrived in town one hour ago. He had rented a room to a private individual leaving for holidays; the metropolis was rather expensive, and it was the best way to save money usefully. Starting tomorrow, he would meet his future errand-giver at a restaurant in the Vavřin neighborhood. Jelinek only hoped it would go well.

He hated this kind of reunion; and doubts filling his head, he tried to sleep in the tiny room.

_Watchmen Headquarters, Sabralis, 10:05PM_

Hours of research and five black teas later, Raphael finally had a partial answer to his problem. A white cup in his hand, he gazed at the hologram displaying dozens of lines punctuated with images. Among those, Jelinek’s portrait was to be found: as he had crossed a toll today, Raphael could access the payment’s origin and location. With access to the highway surveillance cameras, he quickly deducted the man was heading to Sabralis, and surely not to go shopping. Jelinek’s bank statements displayed enormous sums of money sometimes put on his account; and the fictional accounts opened by the courier had only rekindle the Watchman’s curiosity.

Finally, Raphael kept in mind that Jelinek had travelled to Laos a month ago. No matter what he had found there and how it escaped the customs’ vigilance, it may be linked to the body. And of course Jelinek had to keep a lot of key information in paper, since many conmen no longer resorted to digitalization. With modern technology, it was way too simple to find someone using any holographic or encryption system. It also explained the paper documents in Kralova’s case.

Consequently, Raphael hurried to communicate the intel to Leila and Svetlana, officially in charge to handle the case on the field. He slowly rose from his seat to go find them. On his way, he sent an alarm on their phones to locate them in the large building. The first ringing that came back like a radar indicated that Svetlana was in the nursery. Except that, if Raphael had listened well, it would mean she was receiving treatment for almost six hours. Odd.

Almost immediately, the second ringing signaled Leila’s location, the same as Svetlana’s. By the time Raphael was elaborating bloody scenarios, he already reached the nursery, and briskly entered. He caught a glimpse of an unknown nurse, and his eyes landed on Leila, sitting on the edge of a bed. There, he saw a few familiar indigo strands.

“Raphael!” Leila greeted him. “There has been a big problem with Svetlana,” she worryingly said. “She’s been feeling real bad since…”

“Soan,” the young nurse blurted a little late. “Soan Tarabik, sir.”

“Since he examined her. Apparently, there was a toxic agent in the cream, which unfolded with time.”

“Leila,” Raphael interrupted, “where did this happen? What did you do earlier?”

“Oh, yeah, erm, forgot to tell you… She found a product at Ivana Kralova’s house. Curious as she is, she tried it, I don’t know why. Ivana then told us it was something her brother gave her. And now it’s getting worse…”

“The infamous cream, yes, you told me about it. I just didn’t know she touched it.” Raphael turned to Soan. “What happened during the auscultation?”

“Well, I had seen she was burned… but I didn’t think a toxic agent would be there… So she complained about headaches, then her eyes got itchy. So I administrated an analgesic and a poison control dose. The one we synthesized for any chemical poisoning.”

Raphael nodded in approval; he glanced at Svetlana, laying on the cream-colored mattress of the nursery. His gaze lingered on her bandaged hand, and he noted the abnormal whiteness of her complexion.

“Her body is struggling against the infection, as weak as it may be,” Soan added. “That’s why she’s livid.”

“I know,” Raphael replied. “Leila?”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” she gravely said. “You’re sure she’s out of danger?”

“Yes, no worries. It’s striking, but it’s the lowest level of a poisoning. Usually, patients rest for a day. With what I’ve given her, she’ll be up in an hour.”

“Can you tell to what it was due?” Raphael inquired.

“Oof! There’s like, a hundred products capable of that… From monoxide detergent to carbon, to real poisons like low-dosed ricin…”

“Ricin is deadly, if I’m not mistaken,” the Watchman interrupted. “Are we going to lose her or not?”

“No, you’re right. But what I meant to say was, there are so many ways to produce poison today… I wouldn’t know what caused this. I’d need further analyses that take more time.”

Raphael let it slide. Instead, he looked at Leila, who silently shared his point of view. He still chose to voice it out just to be certain.

“Those are the bodies’ symptoms, but less intense,” he affirmed.

“I was gonna say that.”

“Erm, I noticed too,” Soan mentioned, joining the conversation.

“Well _I_ think Mr. Jelinek has some things to say. I wanna find him,” Leila suggested. As Rapahel was going to answer, his phone vibrated; he checked it without delay. His black brows furrowed, darkening his already arcane eyes.

“They found a second body at the Vltava, two hours ago.”

“Two hours are already too much!” Leila rampaged while rushing out of the nursery. “Tell Wright I’m meeting this Jelinek!”

And she disappeared from the room. Soan was now alone with Raphael and sleeping Svetlana, feeling awkward. The man intimidated him a little.

“I’ll take great care of her,” he shot him a smile. “You can… go work.”

“Right. Thank you for the little information.”

And he also got out of the room.

_Watchmen Headquarters, Sabralis, 12:04AM_

Svetlana gradually felt like regaining consciousness; the total pitch black in which she had drowned faded away. Now, a feeble light laid on her eyelids; and although her eyes commanded her to keep them closed, she opened them.

A seaquake of pain overwhelmed her; waves seemed to rage inside her skull, crashing onto her temples. For a moment, Svetlana fell back into the abyss, then fortunately light came back a few seconds later. She saw two green eyes land on her.

“Svetlana! Do you feel better?”

“Erm… Mmh… Yeah…”

“You were supposed to wake up an hour and a half ago, I did everything for that… But don’t worry, your state is perfectly stable. You must have caught up on your sleep.”

“Ok, Ok… Must be that indeed,” Svetlana grumbled. “Do you know where Leila is?”

“She left approximately two hours ago.”

“Something wrong?”

“Apparently the police found a second body in the evening. Then Leila said you strongly resembled… those bodies. So she got out,” he concluded.

“Shit,” she muttered. “I need to catch up with her!”

“You respond well to the medication,” Soan declared. “So okay, I’m letting you leave.”

“I wouldn’t have asked your permission,” she snorted.

Upon those words, she imitated her colleague and got up, thanked the young nurse and dashed out of the room. Immediately, she dialed Leila’s number to understand what had happened during her _blackout_. Svetlana then heard the distant noise of an engine right after she picked up.

“What did I miss?” the young woman urged.

“Oh,” Leila shot. “You’re supposed to rest, you.”

“I’m good. There has been a second body?”

“Oh, well, he’s eavesdropping, the newbie.”

“He earned his place in, didn’t he?” Svetlana reminded.

“Yeah, yeah.”

The woman told everything she knew about the police’s second finding and explained the engine noise. As Svetlana was resting, Leila had returned to Ivana Kralova’s house without delay, forcefully taking the substance from her. Needless to say the criminal’s sister was beside herself, and that she gladly would have run riot against Leila if she had not been brandishing her police badge around. Afterwards, she had demanded Ivana made a list of the places his cousin Jelinek patronized in Sabralis, to attempt in finding him. Thanks to Raphael’s help, she was now driving to the Eastern area of the city. The place where Jelinek was had not been registered on the digitalized city maps. Furthermore, he had chosen to settle in private accommodation, which all the more hid him to the agency’s micro-satellites; despite this technology, private property rights remained. He would have been unlocatable if it were not for Ivana’s list.

When Svetlana synthesized all the new elements, she immediately suggested to accompany Leila. Her colleague, knowing she could not prevent it, accepted.

The young Russian sprinted through the great Headquarters hall, persuaded that this Jelinek would enable her to clear this case, and briskly put her watch inside the controller, detecting her getting out of the building. Svetlana opened the big Headquarters doors and was taken aback by the wind blowing. Her too thick jacket suddenly thus became suited for the weather; and to not be bothered by her flyaway locks fluttering in each squall, the young woman pushed them back in a bun. At the same moment, amongst the flowing of vehicles, a familiar car stopped by Svetlana and the window rolled down. Leila’s angular face appeared, and her colleague promptly jumped in the coupé to leave.

_Jelinek’s apartment, East of Sabralis, 12:08AM_

Jelinek had only slept for two hours, after which he had jolted awake. For now, he was simply laying on a too soft bedding, a massive blanket covering him, and he thought about what could happen during the rendezvous. Actually, he was frightened; and every noise reasoning in the neighborhood only rekindle his anxiety. But he had to fulfill his part of the contract. To break it would be worse. Another thing strongly disturbed the man: a pungent smell filled the apartment since he had arrived. It made his nostrils itchy and his nose could not get used to it. It all the more prevented him to sleep. Jelinek turned once again in his bed, trying to empty his mind. He had had insomnia several times and knew simple goodwill did not cure it.

He got out of his covers to sit on the edge of his bed; looking for a cigarette at the bottom of his bag, he took with another hand a lighter. He was ready to light it up when he heard drumming against the door.

Jelinek jumped, dropping the unlit cigarette and the lighter simultaneously; his heart seemed to have stopped and suddenly, all the bloodiest scenarios he could have imagined came back haunting him. Trembling, he wondered if he had to open. Maybe they were thugs, or offenders. But he had no time doing so. A high-tech tool went nestling inside the door, and hundreds of little claws started to whirl inside the lock. In a piercing noise, the metal doorknob fell, along with a small wood chips cloud. Almost instantly, a hand opened what was left of the door, and Jelinek remained frozen on the spot. He was too scared to move, and still could not grasp what was unfolding under his eyes. When he gathered his spirits, two women were standing in front of him. The first one was entirely wearing black, donned in what appeared to be an assault gear, but lighter. Jelinek audibly gulped when he discerned two CZ75 in her thighs holsters and an unknown firearm in her shoulder one; and he refused to linger upon her belt, rife with all kinds of deadly gadgets. As for the second one, she was dressed in civilian clothing, but nothing in her expression showed she would act as such. The man also spotted a CZ100 and a Glock38 on her hips.

The tallest moved forward, and Jelinek synchronically stepped back.

“Let’s cut to the chase,” she coldly said. “We know who you are, what you do, and we can pressure you.”

The sentence must have been repeated hundreds of times, judging by the quietness of the voice.

“I-I don’t get what you want,” Jelinek stammered, “I have no money, we were supposed to meet tomorrow…”

“We’re not part of your holiday camp. I want to know why you went to Laos one month ago,” she continued.

“Who are you then?” he articulated. “Hit…women?”

“That’s not the point.” She took one of the CZ75. “First, you’re going to talk about Laos. Second, about Kralova.” Hearing the name of his cousin, Jelinek paled and tensed up. They already knew too much.

“No, you’re going to answer me,” he tried in a show of bravery. “What happened to Dimitri?”

The woman displayed a falsely amused grin. She aimed at Jelinek.

“I think we misunderstood each other. I’m the one asking questions here,” she hissed. A clicking at the hammer’s level was heard. “ _Laos_ , and Kralova’s involvement. Now.”

“Ok, Ok,” Jelinek started to squeal, collapsing on the floor, “but I want-”

“I don’t think you’re in any position to negotiate,” the second woman on her right said.

“Fine, fine… Laos, Lukas sent me there. But I had no idea what I would have to do. I just had to get through the Asian subsidiary of _General Cosmetics_ , I was delivered a package, and boom, over!”

“Who’s Lukas?” the first one asked.

“Lukas… erm… he’s an acquaintance of Dimitri’s. I can decently live thanks to him…”

“And his full name?”

“I don’t know it,” he murmured. “He tells no one, he’s not stupid.”

“Less than you wouldn’t be difficult,” the youngest shot. Svetlana was all the more in a bad mood since the guy sold the crap that had gotten her in a poor state. Jelinek threw her a heinous glare, furious that the girl showed no respect.

“A militia kid like you isn’t worth better than him,” he spat.

Svetlana’s eyes darkened and her blood boiled. The mere fact that this man compared her to the mafia vermin she was hunting made her want to cut his tongue. Leila felt her colleague’s anger and led on. She put the gun’s barrel on Jelinek’s forehead.

“What is Lukas’ connection with _General Cosmetics_?”

“I can’t say it… They’ll have me pay for it!”

“Me too,” Leila retorted.

“It’s a firm… Lukas was a member of the Vukovi ex-gang subunit…”

“The _Wolves_ , yeah.”

“And he’s the one handling contacts with the firm… I think…”

Svetlana still looked at the man with a combination of disgust and furor. Deep inside, she wished Leila pulled the trigger.

But in a moment of clarity, she got aware of the acrid smell surrounding her, that had hit her when she entered the room, but faded away because of Jelinek. Intrigued, she turned around the courier laying down. She was not able to trace back the scent’s origin, but it certainly may not augur well. The young woman, from her actual position, looked through the window, inside a shelf’s hole, carefully hiding behind the furniture. Her heart missed a beat.

In front of the building they were all inside, she thought catching a glimpse of a reflection on the roof. And this was a familiar reflection. It was the one emitted by infrared glasses. The weapons used with such frames were varied, but Svetlana knew they required the equivalent of a guided-head grenade launcher.

The smell was of an inflammable gas matching the weapon. Someone wanted to silence Jelinek and a few Watchmen along the way.

Time then slowed down. Svetlana rushed to the opposite window as she took her gun out to break the glass. She yelled something she did not remember, and Leila immediately understood. Jelinek simply widened his eyes and threw himself on the floor.

The window glass exploded in a thousand pieces. Svetlana, panting, leaped onto the windowsill; in the little space left out, Leila climbed and almost fell, pressing her belt just in time so that a cable extended to reach the facing façade. As Svetlana regretted with all her soul to have left without gear, her heart pounding because of adrenaline, Leila’s grip caught her. The gas was taking a greyish hue by chemical reaction. Svetlana did not turn around when a phenomenal sound tore the night; an explosion took down Jelinek and the whole floor of the building. An unbearable heat wave violently blew and the two Watchmen brutally landed on the roof, not following the hook since the detonation pushed them away. Svetlana felt her back burn and painstakingly took her now burning jacket, tossing it away, coughing. In this dusty fog, teary-eyed, she saw what once had been an apartment, whose concrete façade was licked by gigantic flames. Now, only the crackling of fire was heard in the neighborhood.

Svetlana attempted at moving; even if she felt no broken bones, her body seemed to have been drained of its strength. She was covered with ashes and coughed until her lungs burned in turn. It was as if her whole throat was filled with soot, and the building’s debris lay behind her head. The edifice’s small fence, beyond which they had landed, had absorbed the shock and shielded them.

She felt a hand on her shoulder; Leila’s gear had detected the shock and pulled her hoodie in time, protecting her from the smoke. She helped her colleague stand up and handed her a scarf she had taken with her. While the firemen sirens screamed, Jelinek was already reduced to a pile of ashes, just like the rest of information the Watchmen needed.

_Eastern area of Sabralis, Charles IV avenue, 12:20AM_

A phone ringing pulled Lukas out of his trance. Akin to a wild hound, he jumped on his phone and picked up.

“It’s me. Jelinek is out.”

“Not too soon!” Lukas retorted. “I swear, if he spilled beans before dying, you’ll be the one kicking the bucket.”

“It’s fine, the two Watchmen burned with him,” he assured.

“What? There were _Watchmen_?”

“Kill three birds with one stone. Better than what you asked for, isn’t it?”

“No, I don’t think you get it. Those vultures will get revenge! You really think they’ll be fine with you taking down two of their own?”

“By the time they find us without Jelinek…”

“Shut up. If one shows up at your house, I will already have crossed the border. The only thing you have to keep in mind is that you’re responsible for the mess, Branko.”

The fact that Lukas used his name made the man shiver. But he continued.

“I’ll track down any infiltration in _General Cosmetics_ ’ system. If I see them inside, I’ll warn you.”

“You better,” Lukas spat out.

And he hung up as brutally as he had picked up.

_Watchmen Headquarters, 12:23AM_

Raphael just had his sixth tea. Actually, it either was the sixth of the evening, or the first of the day. It did not matter. He sat in front of his hologram, fighting sleep; he was up since eight in the morning. Suddenly, a red alert message lit up the screen. There had been a fire in the city’s Eastern area, where Leila and Svetlana were. He immediately tried to join them through earpiece. But it was disconnected, or at least seriously damaged. He thus resorted to less elaborated means, and called her on her phone, hoping it had made it. Raphael was welcomed by a raucous coughing.

“Yeah?” his colleague’s familiar voice resonated.

“Your phone made it but not your earpiece?” he was indignant.

“I put it under my Kevlar.”

“Your operation was not of the subtlest,” he changed the subject, hearing the recurring coughs. “Is Svetlana here too? Are you the ones who burnt it all?”

“We’re okay, we jumped at the last second, thanks to her.”

“You two better coming back right away, we’ll talk then,” he advised.

“In any case, we don’t have anything to do anymore here,” she said before hanging up.

Raphael did the same, thinking about reporting to Apollina, which would necessarily imply admonition.

On their side, Leila and Svetlana had now gotten down the roof by using a window. They stood downstairs and saw two firemen vehicles park in front of the blazing building. The two Watchmen were still soaked with soot and ashes, and rushed to their car, spared by the monstrous wreckage of the apartment. The engine turned on and they disappeared in the now fire-colored night.

_Watchmen Headquarters, 12:34AM_

Leila and Svetlana entered the great entrance hall and got to the Cabinet to find Raphael. He was ready and waiting for them.

“I hope you have great explanation for what happened, because I’m sure you have something to do with it,” he claimed.

“Look, Raphael, I just wanted info from Jelinek,” Leila retorted, “and I got them.”

“Five seconds prior to him blowing up, indeed.”

“He dropped interesting things, for the record.”

“Such as the address of the grenade launcher? Because it would be very useful,” he scoffed.

“There is a mysterious Lukas in the story, and he’s had contacts in the _General Cosmetics_ firm, or at least its Laotian subsidiary.”

“Laos? Jelinek had booked a plane ticket. What did he do there?”

“He’s been delivered a package,” Leila answered. “He brought it here and delivered it to someone unknown. Probably one of the Vukovi.”

“Fine,” Raphael simply said. “And you, Svetlana?”

“I have nothing to say, except that I almost ended up with a hot seat. And that the guy after us used a grenade launcher. He had spread inflammable gas beforehand, and I shot the window to get us out.”

“You’re lucky we don’t use old firearms, or you would have been the one to blow it up,” Raphael concluded. “Well, I suppose the content of the package is the reason for Kralova’s pills, or the blisters. I am analyzing the substance found at Ivana’s, but it takes long.”

Leila put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Good job. Now if you’ll excuse us, we’ve survived arson, we’re a bit tired. Especially Svetlana in her condition.”

Svetlana, as an answer, only rolled her eyes. Leila shot a smile to the dark-haired man, who only raised eyebrows. As he made his way to Apollina Wright’s office, the two women exchanged guilty glances, stopped by the nursery once again, and fell asleep, exhausted, under Soan’s dumbfounded and very concerned eye.

_General Cosmetics: Czech subsidiary, Sabralis, 8:30AM_

Chemistry genius Andrej Horák’s firm was now on the edge of going bankrupt. Well, like every company in such critical situation, people desperately tried to hide it. But it was undeniable that after the CEO’s son scandal, _General Cosmetics_ had lost a great deal of investors, and its image was seriously tarnished.

Only a miracle product would be capable of restoring the formerly unparallel reputation of the business; and that, the director-general had understood. One needed to find _the_ combination of a widely popular manufactured good, and its long-term life. But they no longer had the financial means to invest in experimentation equipment, and the quality of supplied raw materials decreased with time. Nonetheless, he would not let the firm go down, at least not as long as he held a position of the highest importance. Unconsciously, the director placed his person at the center of the issue. And fortunately enough, _his_ relations allowed him to find a solution.

_Police Station, Sabralis, 9:12AM_

Yann had not left the office since yesterday evening; and honestly, he could not take it anymore. He may have napped earlier, his eyes burned as much, and his lids remained as heavy, like two rocks placed under his eyebrows. The lieutenant massaged his temples of spite and brought his gaze back on the blue hologram facing him. Suddenly, a phone ringing resonated on his left; his colleague picked up and took notes during the whole call duration. When it ended, the man turned to Yann.

“Can you pass something to the kidnapping team?”

Today could not begin worse.

“What’s the problem?”

“A husband reporting her wife’s disappearance for,” he peeked at his watch, “about twenty-three hours.”

“Usually, we have to wait forty-eight hours without news. We’re already busy enough.”

“Yes but it’s an exceptional case according to said husband. And if the communication service gave us the call, it’s important.”

“To when does it go back?” Yann inquired.

“Erm… yesterday morning.”

For a moment, Yann could have thought about a coincidence; but it was almost too good to be true. Figure of speech.

“It’s after we found the first body, in the center…”

“You think it’s connected?”

“No. I’m sure of it.”

And he stood up to check on Amarilis. He needed to find that missing woman, he was convinced of it. But above all, he needed to find her before the Watchmen do, and shoot everything.

_Watchmen Headquarters, 9:15AM_

It was the second time Svetlana woke up with a head like a sieve, and in a short span of time; and it really began to wind her up. She took a look at the bed on her left, where Leila had laid yesterday evening: it was empty. As usual, she kept step ahead of Svetlana, who felt lazy all the more. But before getting to her, she absolutely needed to change her clothes: the soot had stuck to her jacket, to her skin, to her hair. Needless to mention she had turned the whiteness of sheets into a greasy gray. She mentally apologized in advance. Right when she extricated herself from the bed, the second time within eight hours, Soan jumped on her.

“You know, I’ve been told I’d have to treat you regularly, but now it’s getting out of hand! Are you aware of the fact that you could’ve died in twelve different ways yesterday?”

“I’m alive, no need to count them. Don’t worry. Proof is, my head hurts.”

“Yeah, that’s the least when you survive an explosion!” Soan really was concerned.

“I’ll be more careful in the future,” she promised, “although we got exclusive intel.”

“I believe so, yes,” Soan resumed more poised. “During your nap, Raphael compared Ivana’s cream and the pills. They have the same composition. Only the molecular space layout is different, which remains important. As for the products sold in Laos, he’s still looking.”

“That is one point,” Svetlana speculated. “What about General Cosmetics?”

“Leila went investigating it already.”

Svetlana was ready to open her mouth to protest, but Soan cut her off quickly.

“She’s in the Cabinet, not gone yet.”

“Ah, okay,” she said, a bit abashed.

“She didn’t rush into it this time. Maybe she felt bad about yesterday.”

“I’ll meet up with her,” she added, “and we’ll find who throws calcinated bodies in the Vltava.”

“I’m sure of it. But don’t do your pyromaniac show again in the meantime,” Soan snorted.

Svetlana replicated last night’s itinerary; it was a terrible feeling. She felt like she went over and over through the same day, and it perfectly reflected the status of the investigation. They were going around in circles, everyone throwing red herrings in their way, which led to summary executions. The young woman made a detour to pass by the changing rooms; she always carried a bag with bare necessities in a locker, just in case. After a rapid shower, she put on a marine blue t-shirt, black pants and sneakers. Yes, it was not the epitome of elegance, but Svetlana could not care less. To be completely honest, she never really did.

The young Russian actively got out and made her way to the Cabinet, where she hoped to find her two favorite colleagues. A timid smile was written on her face when she recognized familiar figures. She instantly lost it when she saw Raphael’s face.

“Now that you’re both regained your composure, I can properly lecture you,” he abruptly said.

“What?” Svetlana said, unbelieving.

Leila shot her a mischievous eye, assuring her that the “lecture” would not have disastrous consequences. It was just Raphael without his cup of tea.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he ironically continued. “Perhaps is it the fact that _I_ had to appease Apollina Wright, head of the Sabralis Watchmen, renowned for their discreet conduct. Such as igniting fires in the middle of the city.”

“I’m sorry, it won’t happen again. But it’s not our fault,” Svetlana pleaded.

“It’s not mine either,” Raphael retorted. “And yet we all bear the consequences.”

“But without it we would know nothing more!” Svetlana answered.

“Raphael, we won’t do such things in the future,” Leila interfered. “We were set up, but it won’t repeat itself. I promise you.”

“Fine for this time. We coordinated our efforts with the police to extract you from the case and cover up the matter.”

“You can also say that you were worried about us,” Leila jested.

“I’m of all things worried that such _hotheads_ are part of the Watchmen.”

Leila started to laugh, telling how Raphael got better with humor, and that in five centuries, he could reach the level of a human person. He rolled his eyes, moving towards his blue monitor; with a hand gesture, he launched images of newspapers, portraits and figures in the air around them, directly drawn out of the computer. Svetlana recognized Jelinek, the Kralovas, and the General Cosmetics logo. She had bought a lipstick for Mei’s birthday there.

“Let’s recap,” Raphael announced. “The 25th of March, at 9:46PM, after many interpellations, Dimitri Kralova, in contact with a Slovakian mafia, is taken down by one of our colleagues. He leaves a briefcase containing three photos of what appears to be bodies, embellished with a number, a proof of payment for premises, and tablets. Allegedly, everything is in paper to escape our encrypting system.”

“That’s right,” Leila approved.

“Of course it’s right, I know how to do my job,” Raphael nagged. “The 26th of March, at 10:37AM, agent Svetlana Walker reports the discovery of a body in the old city’s canal. It is covered with burnt blisters, as observed in the photos. It also has a few tattooed numbers, six exactly, unknown to databanks.”

“That is weird,” Svetlana attempted.

“Indeed. The same day, at 1:10PM, two agents interrogate Ivana Kralova, Dimitri Kralova’s sister, in possession of a substance matching on an atomic level, the pills found the day before. She mentions her cousin, Gustav Jelinek, courier, close to Dimitri. At 3:15PM, Jelinek is located on the eight-lanes highway leading to Sabralis. There again, he allegedly drove to the city.”

“He drove to the city,” Leila confirmed. “Given that he exploded yesterday.”

Raphael threw an exasperated glance at his colleague, as she answered only with a sardonic grin. 

“I then discover that Jelinek possesses four fictious bank accounts, including one receiving sums of money that are too consequential to match his declared job. He was diagnosed with pancreas cancer and spent fortunes in therapeutic treatment, according to the hospital sheets. He also had travelled to Laos a month before, where he was in contact with General Cosmetics’ subsidiary under the orders of a certain Lukas. He was given a package whose content is unknown, which he brought here, in Czech Republic.”

“That, you wouldn’t know without us,” Leila added.

“The same day, around 8:45PM, a second body is found in the Vltava delta by the police. He has symptoms similar to the first, but his hand is missing, visibly severed.”

“Ew,” Svetlana interjected.

“At 12:09PM, two agents – _you_ – leave for Jelinek’s house in Sabralis, located by Ivana Kralova. After a I suppose dry conversation, the building where the two agents and Jelinek were explodes. Agent Walker submits that an inflammable gas had been spread beforehand, and that the explosion is due to a grenade-launcher from the adjoining roof. As a consequence, it suggests a hitman or one of Lukas’ underling wanted to take Jelinek out, who knew a lot. End of the story.”

“It’s a lot for two days,” Leila confessed. “And you forgot about ex-Vukovi being involved in this.”

“It’s mentioned in the file I sent to the central unit.”

“Ok, Ok Sherlock,” Leila tempered.

_Office of Commandant Zeman, Sabralis, 9:42AM_

Livia’s office was modestly decorated: only a picture of her parents with her brother was framed on the big work surface. She had often been told that an icy atmosphere reigned in the room, to which she had said: “It’s a way to not be distracted.”

And the commandant would not stop working since yesterday evening, very committed to the case she handled now. Three sharp knocks were heard against the light door. Yann entered with a folder in his hands. Livia greeted him.

“Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

“You perfectly know I didn’t, commandant, and you don’t care,” he shot while guffawing.

“Not true. I understand.”

Those two words seemed insignificant, but coming from the commandant, you needed to savor them. Without pretending to be indifferent and lackadaisical to what surrounded her, she remained an authority figure who deserved respect. Furthermore, Yann grasped that she was as exhausted as him; so he gave her an empathetic gaze.

“But let’s go back to the serious stuff. You wanted to see me?”

“Indeed. We’ve got some news this morning, thirty minutes ago. A kidnapping.”

“How is that related to the case?” she inquired.

“I’m getting to it. It’s Mariana Radka, a 37 year-old woman, married, two kids. Before all, I want to warn you about the Watchmen’s digital signature was detected in the general information processing system of public security…”

“Oh come on!” Livia audibly huffed. “Anyway… Continue.”

“What matters is that she disappeared… well, she hasn’t gotten home since the discovery of the first body, in town. I’m sure the two are connected,” he asserted.

“Yann, I want you to know that we can’t base ourselves on hunches. I appreciate your commitment, but I need certitudes. However, it doesn’t exclude the lead, and you will now investigate the kidnapping while Amarilis and I handle the rest.”

“Understood, commandant. Thank you for you attention, and give rest to your beautiful face,” he answered on a wink.

“Out.”

And the lieutenant made sure to get out before a stapler crashed into his skull.

_In front of the Watchmen Headquarters, Karafiáty avenue, 9:47AM_

Leila and Svetlana had left the Headquarters once again to get to the suspected firm when they received a call in their earpieces. Raphael told them that a certain Mariana Radka had been reported missing, and she worked nowhere else than in General Cosmetics. Rather than to multiply the search time, they decided to split to optimize their chances to solve the case.

Leila, who was way better at public relations and formal business language, would check on General Cosmetics. As for Svetlana, she would drive to Mariana Radka’s domicile in order to obtain answers, and to highlight her involvement. Ten minutes later, the two agents had left in vehicles to the indicated addresses.

_Orel Square, Headquarters of General Cosmetics_

Leila cut the engine after double parking, just below the huge building situated behind a small park. It looked like a glass rocket: it was a huge skyscraper, approximately fifty floors to the unaided eye. Making sure to patch a police badge on the vehicle to avoid any useless infraction, the young woman emerged to push the big glass doors of the entrance. Tall golden letters adorned the pediment with the words _General Cosmetics: Headquarters._

The hall was even bigger that the Watchmen’s; and the receptionists looked so small, engulfed by their circular desk, below an imposing chandelier. A little farther, a lift served all the offices from above; Leila found it very comparable to her unit’s. She walked with a radiant smile towards one of the clerks; she was wearing a marine blue suit, and her blonde hair was tied in an irreproachable bun. Her juvenile face gave away certain boredom despite the politeness mask she wore, until Leila opened her mouth.

“Hello,” she began, “I am agent Svoboda, and I’d like to meet one of the human resources manager, please.”

“Erm, excuse-me, did you… make an appointment?” she asked, bewildered.

“It won’t be necessary, I’m a police officer.”

“Ah… is there a… serious problem?”

“No, not at all, it’s just a routine procedure,” she lied. “But I don’t have much time…”

“I’m calling him right now!” she assured.

A few seconds later, the clerk nodded and led Leila to a lift, showing her the way afterwards. The young woman found herself on the 34th floor, wandering in the long sky-blue corridors of the edifice; she glimpsed at a nameplate in a recess next to a glass door. She thus knocked and did not wait for the person’s answer to get inside.

Leila faced a fifty-year old man, with salt and pepper hair and an aquiline nose, whose small gray eyes had widened in surprise. As she always was, she spoke first.

“Hello, agent Svoboda, member of the Sabralis Intern Security Public Forces,” she declaimed, brandishing her tactile badge. “You are the human resources head of this society?”

“Erm… good morning, yes,” the man blabbered.

“The secretariat told you, right?”

“Ye-yes, naturally, I am simply a little taken aback, you see… Please excuse me,” he hesitantly answered. 

“You’re excused. Is there something you wanna tell me about?” she inquired.

“No, please, ask your questions.”

Leila wondered if he knew anything about Mariana Radka, and if he was a good liar.

“I’ll get right to the point: Mariana Radka, 37. She worked here?”

“Yes, she has a seniority grade,” he said while digging into files. “She’s a technical expert.”

“Ah, nice. Of what?”

“So, erm…” the man took a thin blue folder. “Of chemical analysis.”

“Mmh,” she simply mumbled. “Unjustified absences?”

“Well, I suppose it’s the reason you’re here,” he resumed, “because she hasn’t come to work yesterday. But she may have forgotten to take her leave.”

“And your charming clerks forgot to remind her of the administrative procedure?”

“I… realize how unusual it is coming from Mrs. Radka,” he noted.

“Indeed.”

There was a moment of wavering between the two individuals; without suspecting the whole company, Leila started to doubt what her interlocutor was telling her. But after all, doubting was part of her job. Nonetheless, she wondered if she was going to reveal to the man the disappearance of his employee, to make him respond; because if he knew anything, he would summon one of the firm’s powerful lawyer. Besides, he would spread the news and facilitate the fleeing of suspects in General Cosmetics, thus obstructing the Watchmen investigation. Leila could not afford letting a hunch destroy the case, and processed to shift away from the kidnapping lead to focus on Mariana’s career, pleading an investigation about agronomical manipulation.

“Radka has the skills to solve an issue that I recently have been dealing with. I’d like to know more about her to definitely remove her from the suspects list,” Leila lied.

“Ah, so it has nothing to do with General Cosmetics?” asked the man, visibly relieved.

Now that the manager felt the company was out of _judicial danger_ , he would talk a lot more easily about Mariana, at the risk of framing her. In the end, he could not care less about the employee if the pursuits were targeted against her. Leila continued.

“At all, sir. I am merely a field agent, and even as a police officer, I can’t go after a firm like General Cosmetics without evidence. However, I need more details about Mariana Radka.”

“I’ll see what I can find,” he affirmed while rifling through folders. “She’s married, has two children, has studied biochemistry… Ah, and she is part of the research department, she’s working on a project with other chemists. We have to renew the product lines, people want new things!” he exclaimed with an outburst of elation.

“Mmh, nice. What’s the name of the project?”

“Erm… I’ll take a look, I am not sure if it’s – ah yes, I’m sorry, there is no name. A routine project without doubt,” he concluded.

Leila registered all the information thanks to her _chip_ : it was an electronic component slipped in a light casing clipped to her wrist and with a billion data storage capacity. Then, feeling that she was reaching her limit in terms of credibility, she greeted the manager with courtesy, assuring him that it was barely a check-up on the concerned employee. Except that it was not.

_Central area of Sabralis, 10:15AM_

The central area of Sabralis, as in every big city, was relatively upscale and wealthy, and the estate costs arguably explained the patronage of well-off classes there. The metropolis had been founded quite recently, and there was no _old city_ ; but this district resembled it the most. Arranged in a star shape around a park, and punctuated with vibrant squares where businessmen, strollers, students and even tourists crowded, the center of Sabralis was the core of urban activity. Yes, the whole city remained dynamic, but in this area were found the most leisure infrastructures, cafés, bars and museums.

It incidentally involved a high density of population in those places, and consequently an increased traffic. Weary of waiting more than five minutes in said traffic, Svetlana turned on the most subtle siren above the windshield and threw the car on the bicycle path. She did not drive fast enough to be dangerous and made sure not to run over anybody, which would be inconvenient. Fortunately, despite the protests of a few bystanders, she managed to slip in between the parked vehicles and the middle of the huge sidewalk, and got to the indicated address. Once she reached Mariana Radka’s vast loft, Svetlana left her coupé double-parked in front of the building. Just like Leila, she found the right floor, knocked, and introduced the discussion.

“I know it’s undoubtedly early, but I need information about your wife, Mr. Radka.”

Mariana Radka’s husband would have ordinarily seemed charming; but in this very moment, the dread of his wife’s disappearance had slimmed his face, hardened his traits, and emphasized the bags under his yes. Yet, he remained convinced that his wife would return soon.

“There is no problem, I’ll do everything I can to get her home, just like you, right?” he hammered home with a certain firmness.

“Yes, it’s why we’re here,” Svetlana coaxed him, while ignoring her conscience screaming that Mariana Radka was in bad hands.

“She would never have run away, or done anything irresponsible,” he began. “Mariana has a sense of duty and she does her best so that me and the children have a better life.”

“So a kidnapping is for you the only acceptable hypothesis?”

“It’s not a hypothesis, it’s a _fact_ : my wife is a victim of a maniac’s motivations.”

“Why are you so sure?”

“You know, we live in an extremely dangerous and unstable world,” he started. “It’s true, isn’t it? You know it better than anyone, that beyond this seeming oasis of peace reigning here, you struggle to clean up the organized crime filth. It’s been like this since Pazin, don’t lie. And in the end, there is even more than before!” the man retorted while raising his voice. “I knew this was going to happen. I’m always told I’m a pessimist, well, see where it leads us. Proves me right!”

Svetlana observed Radka’s behavior. His speech reflected the pain of a lost relative, but it also clearly targeted the police. The young woman was not entirely sure that the “only” disappearance of his wife made the man febrile; there was a part of paranoia, and unfortunately, of truth. Being in the eye of the endless struggle against crime cyclone, Svetlana rightfully knew that, just like the Greek Hydra, the mafias’ severed heads spawned other heads, numerous and even more poisonous. She had lived it, was living it, and probably would live it for the rest of her life.

Svetlana almost went astray, her thoughts venturing into her past; and automatically, she planted a steel wall between her memories and the reality. She had to go forward.

“Sir, I understand your pain better than anyone,” she confided. “But thinking about a kidnapping says a lot. Tell me about Mariana’s relations.”

“I don’t see why she would have been abducted, unless a raging madman did so with his own twisted motives,” he hissed.

“You know just like me that it’s not probable. Let’s imagine that it’s not the case, who would have wanted to know what she knew, or to possess what she possessed? What important tasks had she? Did her job have an influence on her, a change of behavior?”

“She works at General Cosmetics, she handles new products or something like that.”

“So, she has access to production secrets, and to the required equipment?”

“Of course,” the man calmed down, “she’s one of the best in the company. You’re thinking about industrial espionage?”

“No case of industrial espionage involved abductions to this day, sir.”

“Well… And there’s this transfer story, recently. They transferred her to the research department for an important project, it’s what she had told me.”

“What kind of project?” Svetlana asked, now alert.

“Erm… She had let a name slip, I believe… But… Am I allowed to tell you? She begged me to not tell anything.”

“We need those details, sir, for your wife’s sake. We will cover you if necessary,” the woman conceded.

“I can’t remember properly anyway… It was something about _renewal_ , the…”

“Please try harder.”

The man massaged his temples, obviously exhausted. He took his phone to fiddle with it, trying to recall any information. Suddenly, he had a brief epiphany.

“Ah! It was project… _Rebirth_ , I believe.”

_Orel Square, central area and Watchmen Headquarters, 10:31AM_

Svetlana, Leila and Raphael had all connected their earpieces to communicate in all three corners of the city. They needed to cross-check every new piece of information and to work together, because time was limited. Every passing second brought Mariana closer to danger – if she still was alive; and even if the Watchmen’s claws clutched back onto General Cosmetics and its accomplices, some of them could slip through the net in the heat of the moment. Evidently, when the case would be revealed to the public, a colossal scandal would break out and the firm would lose the little dignity it had left. And the reveal was all the more probable since the police was involved: commandant Zeman had to hold a press conference shortly, which would rekindle mediatic pressure. Raphael had thought out the consequences and exposed them to his colleagues.

“The clock is ticking,” he shot. “We can’t waste more time while we’re close to the end.”

“I don’t feel like we’re that close…” Svetlana opposed.

“Hell yeah we are! The ‘Rebirth’ project Radka told you about is the key!” Leila insisted.

“We’ve got nothing else,” Svetlana noted. “And still nothing about the tattooed numbers.”

“It’s enough for us,” Raphael assured. “We have the substance, Laos, the Vukovi, Jelinek, General Cosmetics… and now Mariana Radka. I’m persuaded it’s a firm-mafia alliance to eradicate competition, since General Cosmetics is going bankrupt for six months.”

“Couldn’t you say that earlier?” Leila cried out louder than expected.

“I had to go through exactly five encrypted computing covers developed by digital security experts. I only found it recently. I even had to call another agent,” Raphael concluded.

“Poor baby,” Leila whispered.

“Hey, you two are the oldest here,” Svetlana interrupted.

The said two shot a few remarks at each other before going back to the two victims. They were two men: an illegal refugee who was roaming the North-Eastern suburb, and homeless. Their only common point was their marginalization by society: with no decent job nor decent life, they easily could have fallen in an organized crime group. The lack of names did not make it easier. But they had to examine the premises lead, whose “proof of payment” had been found on Dimitri Kralova. Raphael announced he would take care of it, while Svetlana and Leila had to find Mariana. Leila ironically worried about the black-haired man getting out of his office, but approved the plan. Agreeing on this, the three disconnected their devices and proceeded as planned.

_East center of Sabralis, municipal city, mayor’s office, 10:46AM_

A large hologram was being projected onto the white wall. It transcribed the daily program of a popular broadcasting channel; a young man firmly held a dark blue mic ahead of one of the Vlata’s mouths. The flowing water could not be seen on camera because of a security perimeter, big white and red bands standing out on the grayish landscape.

The journalist argued that already two bodies had been found in the span of two days, and began adding fuel to the fire, most likely on the production’s advice.

“This genuinely may look like serial murders,” he declared with a grave air on his face. “Who is responsible for this? Or are responsible, if they act as a group? Are _we_ in danger, within our very city that claims to be protected?”

The screen was switched off, showing back the whiteness of the wall.

Edward Agbaje was born in Germany but was of Nigerian descent. His grandparents had moved to Berlin and his parents had themselves migrated to Czech Republic for professional reasons. Edward had always possessed a sharp taste for studying: his heavy lids closed up his gaze as dark as charcoal, and displayed the hours spent reading as a student. His angular but lively face often donned a light comprehensive and reassuring smile, which appeased most of his interlocutors. Yet, it tarnished in no way his authority and his natural sense of leadership; he just knew how to be obeyed and respected without raising his hand or voice.

Seated in a humble brown-leathered chair, dressed in a gray three-pieces suit, the forty-year old man beheld the effervescence through his window below, his hand resting on his crippled leg. He always carried his oak-wooden cane ornated with a silver knob, fitted against the chair’s armrest.

Edward Agbaje was now the mayor of Sabralis. It was an immense responsibility, with a substantial administrative and mediatic weight, that he welcomed without flinching. The post was all the more burdensome that the metropolis achieved an international status and reputation, and gathered the highest command functions. It was the cradle of a mix of cultures, lifestyles and populations since its creation, though it had been conceived to shield around ten million Europeans from climatic hazards. But if the city was synonymous with diversity and dynamism, it also was prey to crime since the last decades’ violence outburst. The great metropolises were the first targets; Edward remembered after watching the broadcast. He had to speak out.

“Mr. Mayor?” a man asked behind the door.

“Yes, what’s the matter?”

“It’s Mrs. Wright, she’s asking to meet you.”

“Let her in.”

Upon Edward’s demand, the man opened the door and referred to the inner room to the visitor. The mayor recognized the silhouette, and would recognize it among thousands; of small stature and perched on couture heels, frail but delicate and graceful, moving like a cat. She wore a black skirt draped onto her thin legs, a tweed cape topped by a black ribbon and leather gloves; her hair was clipped up to let crystal earrings appear.

“Mrs. Wright,” Edward said, “I see you wear a way too beautiful ornament for a simple courtesy visit.”

“Enough with flattery, you know I’m used to it.”

“You also seem used to mingling with a bleak environment,” the mayor reminded, recalling the hologram’s images.

“Well, it’s a habit to develop,” she answered, “and I’m not the one getting her hands dirty. But you know why I came.”

“Indeed. Although, your unit is regulated by a supranational system, what influence could I possibly have left on the Watchmen?”

“You’re wrong. Just being aware of their existence involves you. I came to warn you that my agents suspect a famous company is dissimulating trafficking. If the media came to know about the case, the prestigious image of the Sabralis would blur.”

“You want me to sweep it up under the carpet? Or to twist it?” Edward wondered out loud.

“Being used to press conferences and interviews, I perfectly know that rumors, especially absurd, travel at the speed of light. And they have real leverage on mentalities and crowds,” Apollina explained. “So imagine a police conference… This needs to be covered up while my agents clean it up. And more than anything, it is vital to prevent the police from inadvertently spreading any detail, for the sake of the case.”

The mayor seemed to weight the pros and cons of the deal. He was aware of the fact that sometimes one could not tell the truth, even had to lie to preserve the people. Yet, it was about law enforcement, whose duty was to protect citizens but also to keep them informed of the type of “threat” they were facing. Otherwise, why not use military means in the back of democracy? In the end, his utopic and peaceful society would probably remain a childish dream, since the world he lived in would not allow it. Edward thought about the improvised slogan of the Watchmen. _Protect. Pacify. Watch._ Whatever the price may be.

Apollina’s clear eyes scrutinized his every move, keeping track of his train of thoughts.

“In that case, I’ll give a counter-order to the police to give you time. But I demand that the people know everything after the case is closed,” he ordered.

“You have my gratitude, although a different decision would have seemed unreasonable,” Apollina let out while politely smiling.

“Please, enough with the sarcasms. We both know you have as much power as I have. But you are in the backstage,” he concluded, gazing at her with an odd mix of distrust and mute respect.

“Don’t be so bitter,” Apollina jested while leaving the office. “And I appreciate the limelight way more than what you think, especially reflecting on a Dior ornament.” 

And she opened the door while maliciously glancing at the mayor, before definitely leaving the corridors.

_Sabralis Police Station, 11:00AM_

Livia Zeman, still sitting in her office, kept on handling the paperwork that had been brought about by the case. She considered herself a woman of deeds, but she obviously had to deal with the bureaucratic aspect of her high-risk occupation. It of course made things look less thrilling. And yet, a ringtone pulled her out of her focused state. The Sabralis deputy mayor was at the other end of the line, and the discussion almost went sour.

“What do you mean a counter-order?” she barked. “We were _this_ close of holding a press conference!”

“It’s precisely the issue,” the deputy confessed. “No conference nor data providing to the public until further notice.”

“And may I know what’s the occasion? We’ve always proceeded like this, for the other cases.”

“Commandant Zeman, you are a great officer, on the field in particular,” the man began. “But you need to change your attitude during your next contacts with the general administration of Sabralis. I hope to have made myself clear. Have a good day.”

And he hung up. A swearword echoed in the room.

_Watchmen Headquarters, Sabralis, 11:05AM_

Raphael Sapiega, expert in data processing and operations supervising, was ending up field agent. He bore in mind that those last months, a perceptible shortage of agents had been settling while the classical law enforcement system was highly overstretched. Too many cases piled up, and they lacked time for one of the most crucial. He definitely had to put the shoulder to the wheel.

He walked out of the Headquarters after dropping by the ballistic unit to take a new “creation” with him, and adequately arm himself. He took a function vehicle and headed to the address he had reconstructed using the little information from the premises proof of payment. It was not much, and he would need to poke around, but it should suffice.

The dark-haired man landed in an industrial area rather dilapidated, attached to a small city not far away from the metropolis. Raphael drove along the sidewalks flanked by huge warehouses, which sometimes led to accommodation in a pitiful state, sometimes to vast backyards. The whole was concreted, and empty; a dozen people wandered in this neighborhood where an odd atmosphere pushed down. Raphael had expected a place like this: drowned in all kinds of supplies, an illicit substance would practically go unnoticed. And the place was certainly closely guarded, he needed to be careful about his identity. He roamed around again a little at reduced but constant speed, to avoid raising the inhabitants’ and other undesirable residents suspicions.

The man decided to park on the outskirts of the town in an abandoned parking lot, and made his researches by foot, his shoulder holsters hidden under his thick black peacoat. Raphael wondered how much time he had to stray in this ghost town, when he heard loud voices. He stopped and moved his hand to the lining of his coat to reach his weapon and poked his head to see. Two men slightly under thirty, apparently unarmed, were there. The agent chose to play the lost businessman card. He slowly made his way to the men while making sure his gun was away from prying eyes and spoke with a steady voice.

“Excuse me, I am lost. I’m looking for the 5A building, you know, the one hosting refrigerant systems.”

The first man, younger, disfigured with a scar, spoke up. “What do you wanna do there?”

“Nothing that falls within your skills, I fear.”

“Spit it out.”

“I’m simply lost, I have deals with a pig business, I thought you’d have answers. No offense.”

“I’ll send you right back where you’re from, _rich guy_ ,” the first man hissed.

He threw his arm hesitantly behind his jacket to grab a weapon, and Raphael rammed the stick of his gun in his adversary’s jugular, pressing a button. An electric discharge shook the man’s muscles in spasm, before he collapsed on the ground. The Watchman aimed at his acolyte to quickly dissuade him from using his own gun. He babbled.

“Third block on your left!” he answered while putting his hands in the air.

“Thank you.”

“You’re Lukas, aren’t you?” the man whispered. It gave Raphael ideas that he rapidly processed.

“One of his acquaintances. One word about me, and I’ll find you.”

“No, no, no worries, I also work for him, it’s just the guy, he’s new… a bit retarded!” he gushed out.

“Perfect. You have nothing else to say?”

“No, I swear, I’m just securing the perimeter!”

“Mmh. Try to do your job better.”

Raphael then chose not to put him out of action in case the _real_ Lukas barged in. He quickly headed towards the indicated warehouse, checking if the rest was not guarded as well. He entered by the rear door and got inside a concreted room by far smaller than what he had imagined. It was empty. 

The Watchman grabbed his gun and aimed at every corner of the room; it felt genuinely suspicious that the place was left so unsupervised, if the other man had not lied to him. Indeed, dispatching a legion would draw attention, but he at least expected someone inside. He flipped upside down the boxes and put them back in their spot, proceeding the same way with the few present objects. When he understood he would not get anything out of this side, he moved his gaze to the walls and the ceiling. The bad-quality concrete slabs were of a dirty gray, stuck one to another, without any gap. On the other hand, one area of the slabs was one shade darker with fasteners on the ground.

Still holding his gun tight, he decided to use the ballistic unit’s new gadget. He simply could not blow everything up in case the suspects would pass by, even if it just gave a few additional minutes. Consequently, he took a little device discreet enough to disappear in the folds of the coat, and activated with a sequence of codes. He plotted a curve big enough to let him through with the now white-hot tip of the weapon, and withdrew the concrete circle, way lighter than expected. A second big cavity appeared.

Raphael was obliged to slip into the newly secret room opening up to him, gripping his coat and dirtying his pants with artificial ash. Already irritated, he checked once again he was alone, and fell nose-to-nose with a large black tarp. The temperature had decreased: an improvised refrigerant system had been installed. In the end, it was rather simple: he lifted the tarp, and found hundreds of obsolete cosmetic products. He perfectly knew they no longer were on the current market, opened one of the boxes, analysed its content with the same tool that cut through the wall and compared it with the sample saved in memory. It was the same substance that burned Svetlana, Ivana Kralova, and the two bodies; and there was approximately a ton of it. After being assured of possessing all the evidence, he got out as fast as he entered, struggling a bit to place the concrete circle back on, and left the warehouse.

As he cautiously turned back, he heard a car in the area. It was driving to his position. Right when he managed to hide, two policemen arrived in the street. The man from earlier blocked their way and rounded up a few friends who held grudges against the police, and an altercation began. Raphael heard other steps on his right. The place was indeed monitored, and maybe he had fallen into a trap without realizing. He really was rusty. He took his gun and decided to act.

Peeking on the side, dissimulated by the warehouse wall, he caught the face of the man getting closer to the building: a man called Branko, specialist of human trafficking. Raphael had tracked him down and studied his file. He made the connection between the actual trafficking and the old remaining Vukovi, with his twin brother.

Branko had a Beretta in his right hand, and was going around the warehouse visited earlier. The police were far away, distracted by the young accomplice. Then, he moved closer and glimpsed at the fresh circle clogging made by the organization’s tool. Before he could turn around, the Watchman jumped on him and squeezed his neck with his forearms. He took his weapon immediately. The two fell down, the Beretta slipping on the sloping field behind the warehouse. Raphael did not want to kill him to learn more, and Branko was trying to break free of his adversary’s grip. But the criminal was over-trained while the Watchman had done no field mission for two years. The latter narrowly dodged an elbow by launching his head on the side, but the other man had rolled down and linkaged his arm. Raphael’s back hit the ground with a thud, as Branko fell on him to immobilize him. Despite the dangerous state he was in, the analyst still tried to request information.

“Why General Cosmetics?” he breathed out, head on dry grass, blood rushing to his brain.

“I don’t know you. Surely a cop. Or the Avengers they told me about.”

“ _Watchmen_ ,” the other coughed. “Where is Lukas?”

“You really have no other priority than to interrogate me, now?” Branko hissed.

Raphael would get nothing out of him. And he was far from being in a position of strength: Branko’s hands brutally clutched his neck, pressing the skin and squeezing the muscles. His calm, methodical iron grip would strangle him in less than a minute. In a last surge of effort, the Watchman sent his knee waltz as hard as possible in the assailant’s abdomen, cutting his breath. The hands loosened up in the span of a second, which was enough for Raphael to point his gun and pull the trigger through the man’s shirt, below his clavicle. An electric discharge once again rained down on his torso, shaking the man to his core and making him crumble. Raphael pushed him aside and broke free, taking the Beretta and uneasily filling his lungs with fresh air.

He had not killed him to avoid bringing in the onlookers and the freshly arrived policemen. Also, to spare his shirt. Nevertheless, Branko’s pained moans had to be heard. The police had now forced their way in, the kid handcuffed behind them. His friends had given up and gone away. The Watchman decided to show himself and _partially_ explain what had happened.

“Police! Hands in the air!” the first policeman called out.

Raphael unwillingly displayed his weapon, which only rekindled the officer’s mistrust. His head was still dizzy and his face was livid, but he recognized Amarilis Dahel and Yann Kouassi, commandant’s Zeman bloodhounds. Their eyes stared in turn at the man in front of them and the body on the ground.

“Ivan Branko, great human trafficker in Europe. He attacked me.”

“And may we know where you’re from, huh?” Amarilis inquired, her own gun aimed at Raphael. He had to tell the truth. Partially.

“I disarmed him. He’s not dead. And before you ask,” he started, “I was ordered to investigate here. I’m just an analyst, and a victim.”

“We’re not stupid, thank you,” the woman retorted. “You’re far from being anonymous to us.”

“Raphael Sapiega, right?” Yann added. “Wright’s best friend.”

“I didn’t know learning organigrams was part of your skills,” the dark-haired man said, exasperated and still catching his breath.

“Anyway, enough talking, tell what you found, Mr. Analyst,” the lieutenant shot, content.

Raphael was more than a mere analyst. And he above all was irritated to waste any more time. But in such circumstances, no protocol, even elementary, allowed him to hide information to the police as long as he had not received a specific order. And he visibly was caught red-handed brawling.

“We’re putting forward the hypothesis that victims are intentionally burned for an unknown motive. The product at the origin of those deviances is in a secret storage room that I found ten minutes ago. Branko threw himself on me after the discovery. I didn’t kill him so you can have some fun, if you can make him cooperate. Good day.”

And he moved forward, making his way between the policemen who were mentally taking notes. Yann made clear that he was not done with them, to which Raphael barely answered with a disinterested approval. The young accomplice was handcuffed and stared at the Watchman with disgust. Despite a few inconveniences, Raphael had obtained everything he wanted: the place of storage of the substance, Branko’s implication confirmed, and most of all, an address. To which the bags under the tarp had to be delivered. It was a building in an ex-military complex to the city’s West, beyond the ramparts and near a Vltava affluent. The multiplication of stock transfers was supposed to blur the leads. But now, the Watchman was certain that everything would play out there.

_Watchmen Headquarters, 11:33AM_

Svetlana and Leila were waiting for Raphael’s update, attempting at gathering on their side everything they could. The accumulation of stories about Mariana Radka were not helping; they simply were convinced it was an abduction in connection with the woman’s competences, that could be used in an industrial espionage service or in diverse drug production. But outside of this, no evidence was found to confirm any involvement of a mafia, since the two bodies and the kidnapping were not directly related, at least for now. The two women were interrupted by a synchronized call in their earpieces.

“I found the storage room, the police are there already. I have another address.”

“Raphael!” Leila exclaimed. “Tell us more!”

“I’m sick of swinging like a clock, how many addresses do they got?” Svetlana complained.

“Ivan Branko is involved as well, he may be helping Lukas. The police took him too.”

“Don’t worry, we got a new alert as you were probably busy, the police won’t take action thanks to a counter-order,” Leila told him.

“I suspected it, they were rather compliant with me.”

“And the address?” Svetlana added.

“Full West, ancient military complex, near the river. Here is what I’m suggesting. Right now, the place must be desert, and the remaining regular staff in the base is on duty. Our suspects won’t take the risk to get identified by those witnesses. However, I consulted the hours, and the employees end at 6PM the latest. Logically, if anything were to happen there, it would be after this hour. So it’s best to act during that time.”

“We would wait six hours doing nothing?” Leila was surprised. 

“I believe that if we stir too many things up in a short amount of time, most of the suspects will run away. And I’d rather not see the fate they have for Mariana Radka.”

Leila looked pensive and was reluctant to the idea of not acting right away. Yet, she was aware that a good war tactic – though she was not at war – lied in patience. Though she spoke up again.

“Raphael, have you done anything to Branko? Spoke to him?”

“He attacked me, I tried to learn more, he didn’t want to tell, I incapacitated him. I know his accomplices will find it strange. It all depends on the police’s policy and if he wakes up.”

“ _If_ he wakes up? That’s bad,” Svetlana confirmed.

“Anyway, let’s try to focus on the situation while getting ready. I agree with your plan, Raphael,” Leila announced. “Svetlana?”

“I’m okay with everything. As long as we finish the job and know what’s happening.”

“Ok, everyone agrees. I’ll report to the boss but if the police know about it, despite the restrictions, there may be leaks. Raphael, we meet at the Cabinet.”

“Understood.”

And everyone hung up, waiting for the night to come.

_Watchmen Headquarters, Sabralis, 12:15AM_

The afternoon was, after all, quite busy: Apollina gave a green light for the evening’s operation, and everyone was prepared adequately. They coordinated units, designated agents. Of course, Svetlana and Leila being on the case since the beginning, it was natural they were the best equipped to act tonight. Raphael, also involved, would guide them the best he could through the earpieces. Furthermore, the target was one or many armed groups, thus other agents would back up the team. Finally, it was planned for the police to intervene at the end of the operation, whatever the issue might be, in case casualties were reported.

After the briefing, the directly concerned met up in a small committee. Svetlana was used to missions of that calibre, but she rarely had the time to rest like she did at the moment. Usually, she would act instinctively, counting on her reflexes and capacity for survival, just like at Jelinek’s. Naturally, she could reinvest those skills tonight. She simply felt disoriented by the calm. _The calm before the storm_ , she thought.

“If you don’t feel good, you’re not forced to do this, Svetlana,” Leila said in a murmur.

“No, don’t worry. I’m not used to sit twiddling my thumbs, that’s all,” she confided.

“Tonight’s important, trust me. And we’ve always made it, you’ve always reacted accordingly. There is no reason it would go wrong, right?”

“Yep,” the young woman answered with a sympathetic gaze. “Don’t be so concerned about me.”

Raphael butted into the conversation. “Sorry to interrupt, but I have to sort things out with you as well.”

“You said it was an old military base,” Leila began. “The armory?”

“Empty. All the weapons were moved.”

“And the building’s map?” Svetlana inquired.

“I dematerialized it and sent it on your chips. You can visualize it in hologram on your watches,” he confirmed.

“Have you seen a lot of exits, basements?” she continued.

“Very few, actually. Lots of ducts, but aside from the three exits in periphery and the one underground, nothing else. Try not to blow a bomb there, this time.”

“Oh, come on!” Leila protested.

“Don’t forget there may be a hostage, Mariana Radka. Even several, who knows. It wouldn’t be smart to put her in the fire.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” the brown-skinned woman scoffed. Raphael did not raise the umpteenth jest.

“Finally, it’s highly probable that the crux of the issue is underground, if it’s an illegal activity. Be careful.”

“We will be,” Svetlana assured. “What I want to know, it’s what’s hiding behind this macabre mess. I’ll make one of two talk if the occasion arises.”

“There is only one way to know, in any case,” a crystalline voice resonated, outside the conversation. Apollina Wright had come down to the Cabinet. She had taken off her cape and displayed a white blouse embellished with a jewel brooch.

“Madam,” the Watchmen almost simultaneously said.

“This case is of a substantial importance. I’ll try to cover the details too obscure for the public. In any event, if it’s a group that poisoned General Cosmetics, try to be firm. They won’t regret an employee or two.”

“I feel like the entire firm is more likely to collapse,” Raphael said in a jibe.

“And project Rebirth?” Leila questioned. “We’ve got nothing. Should we look for clues there too?”

“The priority is to neutralize this case’s actors. Keep your strength to investigate the projects afterwards. Upon those words, see you in a few hours,” she concluded.

And she left as quickly as she had arrived, making a call on her way.

Svetlana began to put her tactical top; it was a light and resistant pullover, made in a bulletproof fabric blended into the cloth at the level of the heart, the abdomen’s internal organs and under the arms. The lower part was akin to the first, like sports underpants, and protected the femoral arteries. On top of it were buckled thicker and more comfortable battle pants, where a grapnel was placed inside the belt. The young woman then donned her gloves, elbow and kneepads, as well as her multifunction vest. Finally, she attached two thigh and shoulder holsters and her hood at the base of her neck. She looked ready.

She had trouble recognizing herself in that gear, no matter how many times she had seen herself dressed like this: all dressed in black, her face sometimes covered, Svetlana felt alienated from herself. Leila had mirrored her gestures and looked by far at ease than her colleague; she had to have worn lots of gears like those. She once again shot a compassionate gaze at Svetlana while time flew.

The young Russian repeated the plan in her head one last time, while being reassured that Leila would be there and in charge. Yes, she was independent and quite resourceful, but she did not consider herself as a leader. Now, she was almost bored. Svetlana thought that dropping by the ballistic department would not hurt. And she could go check on Soan afterwards.

As she went up the concrete stairs that led to the laboratories and the research areas, she fell yet again on Raphael, who accompanied her on her way to explain the presence of new faces. As a matter of fact, Svetlana was far from knowing everyone here as she had been recruited a year and a half ago; but she still noticed when newcomers were here. At desks, next to machines, with plans and drawings… The staff had been renewed.

“The cell accumulates years of service after all,” Raphael explained, “thus there had been many permanent agents since. So a series of new hires has taken place. Mr. Tarabik is part of the upcoming doctors.”

“Doctor? I thought he was a nurse.”

“No, he has nano-medical training, but he’s barely twenty, he can’t be a doctor at the Headquarters,” scoffed the man, almost offended to be the oldest of his close colleagues.

“Mmh, I see. Does that mean I’ll get promoted?” Svetlana played around.

“Not so fast. We promote real talents here.”

Svetlana opened her mouth to protest, but Raphael only shot her a knowing glance punctuated with an imperceptible sneer, akin to a smile. She felt that warmth she had found with Leila and Mei, the first people who had genuinely took her in when she arrived in the big city. The softness of a deepened connection with someone, that recrafted a semblance of kinship. She thought to have definitely lost it, and yet, a few fragments of this serenity of heart were gradually sticking together, like a mosaic of plenitude. Although Raphael was not the kind of person to easily be approached and was even scary more than anything else. But perhaps they bonded because they were more alike than what the woman thought.

“So as I was saying, there are approximately twenty people in that room that posses around fourteen more diplomas than you do.”

The young woman rolled her eyes. They had entered the laboratories’ section.

“Including Mr. Kingsley, trained in the U.S., who is developing new weapons a bit more ingenious than the average. Well, he remains an intern for now, but he’ll probably get promoted quickly.”

Raphael then designated a young blonde man with stuck-out ears, perhaps as old as Svetlana. But… she had seen him before. In the lift after Kralova’s deal. She had bumped into him like some kind of brute and he had merely laughed. He lifted his head from the object of his immediate attention and glimpsed at the two Watchmen. All in all, he looked _very_ young. Almost adolescent. He indeed was rather tall, but his slimness verging on frailness reminded of the prepubescent body. His golden hair fell in small strands upon his forehead, and the rest was pushed back in a very elaborate style. He apparently really cared about his precious locks that framed his face with a copper halo, a diverted air on his lips. His big hazelnut eyes, keen and sparkling, roaming about freely on the drawings on his right. He nonchalantly walked towards his two colleagues, hands in his unbuttoned blouse’ pockets, letting his… rather sharp style show. Of all evidence, he had little interest in the internal rules, or simply did not care. Svetlana could guess it was a person on whom few things were imposed, even brazen. She was skeptical.

“Hi, how are you doing?” he gleefully greeted. “I’m Aidan. Nice costume, by the way, you look like the X-Men.”

He gestured at Svetlana’s dark gear.

“It’s not a costume,” the woman objected. “Who are the X-Men?”

“I wish I had one…” he sighed, falsely afflicted and ignoring her remark. He suddenly came around, transfixed. “Wait, you don’t know the X-Men? It’s a classic!”

“This is agent Walker, she takes care of field operations. I’m Raphael Sapiega, in case you forgot,” the Watchman cut off.

“Okey dokey! I hadn’t forgotten, don’t worry. What’s your first name, exactly?” he asked the young woman taken aback.

The two colleagues were obviously baffled by the amount of familiarity, especially Raphael being treated like a buddy of this brat. They exchanged a furtive glance as the woman answered. “Svetlana, nice to meet you.”

After all, she could be familiar too.

“Oh, a Russian! Cool! So, do you have a shortened version of your name, like Sveta? Svetchka?”

“No, just Svetlana. Are you that interested?”

“Wow, no! No problem. I can show you a few odds and ends I’ve been authorized to mount, if you want.”

“It is indeed the reason we came,” Raphael confirmed, sensing awkwardness between the two. Well, especially from Svetlana.

The concerned character turned around, a sardonic expression still plastered on his face, and grabbed what appeared to be a rigid bottle. He examined it again, his hazelnut eyes hastily looking at the object. It resembled anything but a weapon, Svetlana thought to herself. Raphael at her sides also seemed to regret praising the carefree young man. The latter spoke up in a more measured tone.

“It looks like a vulgar big antiseptic bottle, right? Well, not at all. It can help!”

“Naturally. It’ll certainly help me not get shot in the head,” Svetlana sarcastically said.

“Come on Lana, I’m new here, be cool…”

“Lana is for close relatives.”

“Alright, then. See, _Luna_ , it’s a tiny can of concentrated trinitrite which basically can make anyone black out with one spraying.”

“What the hell is that?”

“Svetlana,” Raphael said, unable to sort the irony from the authenticity.

“Erm, the name or the weapon?” Aidan naively asked.

“I’ll let you choose!”

“I can’t try dangerous things as long as I’m on probation!”

“Youngsters, I believe it’s time to put aside your differences to continue work,” Raphael cut them off again. “Your extraction is in less than two hours,” he turned to the young woman.

Upon those words, Svetlana draped herself in dignity and closed her mouth. As for Aidan, he was done taunting her interlocutor and pursued his explanation. His prototype was indeed a little container of concentrated trinitrite, a substance capable of putting any individual into an extended syncope who came in contact with the product. A pressing button at the end of the container could send the now volatile substance in the air; aiming at the person, they were knocked out, but not dead. Simply put away for a period of ten minutes to an hour. The only problem was this uncertain parameter, because although everyone reacted to it, some would come to their senses faster than others. Otherwise, it seemed inventive. Raphael and Svetlana left the room, after the woman threw to Aidan one of her glares she mastered. Usually, the victims were taken aback and looked back worryingly. He just laughed at her face.

“I think I should inform you that he’s following field agent training parallelly to his engineering apprenticeship. Just so you know,” Raphael unveiled once they reached the corridor.

“That guy will be part of the operation teams?!” she choked on her saliva.

“No, the request has to be studied and approved. But he’s less… stupid than what he may look like.”

_Underground Parking Lot, Watchmen Headquarters, Sabralis, 4:15PM_

Leila, Svetlana and three other agents walked all geared-up to their function vehicles: they had two discreet sedans, one gray and the other dark blue, to blend in more than the massive black police vans. Raphael and two logisticians were settled at their stations, in contact with the responders. The Watchman had taken care to wear a light turtleneck to hide the purplish black marks that barred his throat.

It was one-hour drive to reach the military base, since the city was extremely dense and could be an obstacle to the participants, despite the sirens and the shortcuts. By getting ahead, they could take note of the entrances and exits at the base and refine their plan. The drive was calm, the two cars following each other up close. Leila attempted at improving the atmosphere as much as she could. Svetlana felt a slight torsion inside her stomach, which would disappear when the operation begins. It had always been this way.

They reached the place around 5:30PM, parked on the staff area while displaying appropriate licence plates, and waited. The agents at the Headquarters deactivated the reconnaissance system of the base to operate without trouble.

Their windows were slightly tainted to distinguish their faces, but not their equipment; it raised less suspicions about secret services being involved. Other cars were parked, and two men got out of a black coupé. One of them was the spitting image of Branko; for a brief moment, Leila panicked, and called Raphael.

“What the hell? Branko is on the parking lot!” she tried to whisper.

“He’s being detained by the police. He has a twin.”

“Well say it earlier next time.”

“Oh please don’t get me started. Every agent has to stay informed of the updates.”

Svetlana observed the second man next to the Branko twin; he was relatively small in stature, but heavyset, his hair cut extremely short, like an ex-soldier. He had feral eyes, thick brows covering his sunken eyes. His jaw was tightened, perpendicularly cut upon his neck despite the three-day stubble he was wearing. That man seemed to be of the unstable kind, ready to act and jump to the throat of the first one who would go against him. By the way, Branko’s brother kept his distances, apparently intimidated by his acolyte. They headed to the base. The smallest probably had more power in the hierarchy than Branko’s brother.

“Can we identify the smaller one with my lens?” Leila asked.

“Already tried,” Raphael interjected. “We have nothing on him.”

First disappointment. The man engaged a discussion that rapidly escalated, his fists feverishly tightening. The brother rolled with the punches. They disappeared inside the complex. Once out of sight, the cameras all out of order in case they were requisitioned by the criminals, the agents got out of the vehicles. They grabbed their backpacks easy to carry around, containing other weapons, including Aidan’s prototype and first-aid kits. Then, they walked to the base stealthily, progressing one behind the other, Leila taking the lead.

The day was gradually drawing to an end, the sky taking a shade between pink and orange, with hints of nocturnal blue already detectable. The place was now desert, and no sound could be heard apart from the agents’ steps. Ahead of the building, they split up in two groups, Leila and Svetlana together. Three armed men kept the edifice, their fingers clutching their rifles.

The five Watchmen noticed them, communicating in a low voice through the earpiece. Unanimously, Svetlana, Leila and another agent took their silencer. One breathing. Another. And the characteristic noise of the weapons was muffled in the dusk, the three men simultaneously collapsing.

The entrance was now cleared, but after a check of the map, it appeared that it led to a hall likely to be covered. As a consequence, the team divided into groups, one on the back entrance and one on a basement access. Leila and Svetlana headed to the latter, gripping their silencers and precision firearms. They slowly entered the basement and hid as soon as they set foot inside. Voices resonated a few inches away from them, and they did not have the time to close the door behind them. The thick concrete wall had a recess that would not dissimulate them for long. The masculine voices were assured and imposing, so they did not belong to employees held hostage. The clinking of someone taking off the gun safety alerted the two Watchmen. They were going to find them by the time they reached the door.

The two men moved forward, and before they could shoot or warn anyone, Leila elbowed the first at the base of the skull, as Svetlana launched herself on the second’s gun in hand. Two subtle gunshots made a muffled sound again, and the guards crumbled on the ground. 

The two women kept on progressing inside the winding and dimly lit corridors of the base, an acrid smell of dust reigned. They contacted the rest of the team, who reported their status and position.

“If I’m referring to the map, we’re just under the East wing of the building. If even this place is guarded, I can’t imagine what’s in the center,” Leila assessed in a breath.

“We need to go left and we’ll find stairs,” Svetlana answered. “I suggest we take the duct there. It’s wide and will get us to a footbridge circling the former armory, the central room.”

“Ok. You better empty the silencer’s magazine first, to be invisible as long as possible.”

Svetlana nodded, and they took the recommended way. The others would surround them from the lowest level and find the potential hostages.

The two Watchmen faced the plate closing the indeed very large duct. They went through it, Svetlana closing always trailing behind, progressing self-contained. At one moment, the duct parted in two branches: one slightly going up and the other turned to the right. Though it was not the best move, they decided to split up to get a chance to find Mariana Radka, or Lukas.

Svetlana activated the adhering fabric of her gloves to lift herself in the narrower space of the top duct, while Leila took right.

_Former military complex, West of Sabralis, 6:24PM_

Lukas was not supposed to be here. He should have done what he had promised to do, namely packing to Ukraine. He had been told that he had a rather choleric temperament, but right now, he really was beside himself. Nothing went according to plan. First, Dimitri Kralova getting killed, which meant all the documents he carried fell to the hands of the Watchmen vultures. On top of that, Jelinek’s cover had blown, literally. And now Branko, _the other_ , supposed to handle the consequences, gave no news since noon. He was going crazy. The only reason he risked venturing here was to quickly get a hold of the money he had demanded for the services provided. No, nothing was embodied nor achieved yet, but it did not mean he would lend his men for free. Branko’s twin on his heels kind of served as a receptacle for venting out.

“It’s the last time I’m setting foot in this shithole, and only because my money’s there. I swear that I’ll make your bro regret his decision!” he thundered.

“He must be busy, or took care of something,” his interlocutor speculated.

“Yeah, well given the way he takes care of things, I should be fucking worried!” he barked.

The two men accessed to the central room in the base, where they were welcomed by a dozen of scientists, an elegantly dressed man and many guards in charge of security.

“The least one could say is that you know how to make yourself heard!” the man in the suit said, facetious.

“You, keep it down,” Lukas hissed. “Without me, your lame-ass project would only be a bunch of papers detained by general intelligence.”

“I know… I am aware of that.”

“The money, quickly,” he ordered. One of the guards presented the man a wallet, which he kept possessively.

“You know, I had to dip into my own accounts, and the firm’s, it wasn’t easy to get such an amount,” he began. “Finish the job, and I’ll gladly oblige.”

“Sorry for my vile mouth, Mr. Director, but I don’t give a-”

Struggling sounds cut off the two men’s discussion. Screams of dread and anger resonated in the vast room. It was a woman, around fifty-years old, with haggard eyes and mouth ajar, who was desperately crying for help. A guard had approached her as a doctor had been trying to subdue her, in vain. They had wanted to sedate her, but seeing the syringe, she had turned hysterical. The doctor spoke up.

“I did everything to calm her down, I even gave her her favorite drug,” he pleaded.

Lukas glanced in turn at the scene, wearing an infuriated air on his face. There were futuristic experimentation tools, metallic tables on both sides of computers and storage boxes full of products in front of him; the said boxes vomited tons of cables that were arbitrarily arranged and plugged into the monitors. They had turned the former armory into a full-fledged experiment center. Crates of food cans piled up in every corner of the room, an alternative power system had been installed and a rejection system had even been created and connected to the sewers.

He could not care less about General Cosmetics; he was in the underworld, wanted his money, and as soon as possible. Human trafficking, he had seen plenty. He turned around to the man with the wallet, of all evidence not used to half-dead people’s wailing. Lukas took a firm step towards him and ripped the briefcase from his hands. The other man was aghast.

“Unlike you, I don’t have any reputation to uphold,” he threatened. “My spooks are all yours for twenty-four hours, and after that, _basta_. Find a way to transfer me the deposit you owe me out of borders. I’m counting on your success, Mr. Director, otherwise you’ll see me again,” he warned.

“It’s the last phase, all… all our best chemists are on it,” the man stuttered.

“And the other, make her disappear in an hour. Put her through what she did to the others.”

“Are… Are you sure about that?”

“Do what I suggest you to do, end of the story.”

_First floor ducts, military complex, 6:40PM_

Leila knew that the rest of the team secured the perimeter, which allowed her to operate alone on this floor. She crawled up the duct and ended up in front of the aeration grid of the central room. Before removing it, she checked how many people were present on the other side. She cocked her silencer and cut through the grid with the same tip that Raphael had used, and softly put it behind her. She poked her head out, and only noticed an armed man turning his back on her. Leila was indeed on the footbridge circling the room, since she could only see a fragment of what was going on below. And she did not like what she saw.

She noiselessly got herself out of the duct, trying to camouflage away from the guard across the room, on the other “bank” of the footbridge. Then, she aimed at the opposite man’s legs to make him fall not to abruptly, shooting without a sound. She took another shot to reach the head in order to quiet him right away.

The guard turning his back on her was alerted by the yet discreet noise and moved to the level of the sliced aeration grid. Leila had crouched back into the duct, and when the man’s calves were visible, she drew out a hunting knife. Smart as a whip, she cut sharply cut him behind the knee and above the heels to severe his tendons and jumped on him once he was down. She disarmed him by breaking his elbow, covering his mouth with her hand, and spun around to strike him with a ruthless knee in the face. She quickly put an end to the muffling with her silencer.

At that moment, she felt eyes laying on her: instinctively, she jumped behind a door she opened to protect herself. A bullet hit the metal door, and Leila realized that her makeshift hideout would not last for long. She tried to let her armed hand out and visualize her adversary, when she caught a glimpse of a white fabric in the guard’s direction.

She put on her hood, rushed out of the opened door and aimed at the guard: he mirrored her moves. Except that he held Mariana Radka tightly, one muscled arm around her neck.

With a confident eye, without looking away from Leila, he placed the gun’s barrel to the scientist’s temple. Leila was at an impasse; the sound of the first bullet hole had been covered by the distorted screams of a woman down below and the machines’ whirring, but the next shot would launch a warning signal. Furthermore, she had to save Mariana, ideally. And the guard looked determined to execute her if the situation required him to do so.

He was going to tell her to drop her weapon. The other team was still at the back of the building, they probably had met other thugs. She was going to be spotted any time. Suddenly, before the man even spoke, a bullet went right through his skull, exploding in a sheaf of blood.

_Higher aeration duct, military complex, ten minutes before_

Svetlana, despite her rather heavy gear and her backpack, managed to lift herself out of the practically vertical duct and wedged against the lining, her back on the wall. Another aeration grid filtered the room’s faint light.

After having subtly taken it off, she uprooted herself off the duct, gun drawn. She arrived on a second footbridge situated above the first one, that was not on the map. Without time to blink, a man fell on her and made her drop her silencer. He wanted to use his gun in turn, but the young woman threw herself on the ground, making the metal bridge and rolled between the man’s legs while kicking him. Then, she swiftly stood up and squeezed his armed shoulder, dislocated it, making the gun fall. She tried to deaden the noise with her thick shoe.

Suddenly, the man turned around in a groan, and sent a punch that Svetlana could only partially dodge. The man’s fist crushed her clavicle, which pushed her backwards. But she could not fall down. Despite the room’s whirring and her own pain, she could not let her position be known so early.

The tightening of pain above her thoracic cage was lancinating, but she fought to refocus on her enemy. He had rushed to the weapon on the ground and was going to reach it. In a last effort, she jumped and crushed the man’s hand, and a reverse elbow in his face followed right after. She felt the steel bone structure of her adversary despite her elbow-pad.

He was going to let out a cry when she sensed a guard’s movement on her left. The other man aimed at the two fighters. In a rush, Svetlana gripped again her adversary’s head that had bent backwards under her blow, crouched to hide behind him and felt the bullet nestling inside her human shield’s chest. She grabbed again her silencer now closer than ever and shot the guard. He fell onto the wall. Down below, Lukas ordered his men to disperse, he and the others hearing noise.

Svetlana attempted at catching her breath and calming the beating of her heart. However, her conscience screamed to get herself together as quick as possible to pursue the extraction. She thought about Leila, who had certainly reached the inferior floor. Since her zone was cleared, she furtively bent above the edge of the fence demarcating the aerial platform to analyze the space in which she operated. Suddenly, she heard similar thuds of struggle few inches below.

She oriented her gaze downwards and fist saw the inert bodies of two guards, before discerning three silhouettes in the darkness.

Leila was facing another militiaman, her gun pointed on him; and the concerned man held a woman in a white blouse, of all evidence a scientist, his Colt sinking into her temple. She decided not to linger on the horrid show playing in the room, where desperate yelping resonated. Her eyes had widened in the span of a second, unable to believe what they were seeing. The young woman carefully moved to the guard and his hostage’s level below, to have a view from above on both. She put her arms over the fence, firmly clutched her gun, closed an eye, and breathed out a few times.

Then she pulled the trigger, praying for the bullet to reach its target.

The guard’s head exploded under the impact and a gush of blood spread around. The scientist held hostage collapsed on the floor, her white blouse and her face now soaked with carmine, a horrified expression distorting her traits.

Leila immediately looked up, apparently taken aback; she nodded in Svetlana’s direction and ran to Mariana Radka. Having found nothing else interesting on this secret floor, Svetlana grasped the guardrail and got down on the inferior footbridge thanks to a pole. She tried to land as quietly as possible.

“What are you doing here?” Leila murmured. “I thought it led to the roof!”

“Every way up is blocked, there is just one additional footbridge.”

“And about Rebirth?”

“I told you, nothing at all.”

Mariana, in shock, seemed frozen on the spot. Her eyes big as saucers jumped from her executioner to the gallons of blood on her clothes. She opened her mouth, hiccupping in fear, ready to let the most terrified sounds out when Svetlana cladded her gloved hand on her face.

“Please, not here,” she begged, panting. “And no vomiting either, they’d hear us.”

The only answer the scientist gave was staring with her teary clear eyes her interlocutor, and despite her trembling, managed to briefly nod. Svetlana then delicately took her hand off, turning to her colleague.

“Raphael and the others told me the base of the complex was secured. We just need to take care of this room,” she whispered.

“This room is the hardest, what a joke. Thirteen big guys, three Mafiosi and six scientists, seven including Mariana,” Leila asserted.

“The others have to get their asses here, we won’t be enough,” the other noted.

“The… the… man in a suit… General C-Cosmetics…” Mariana stammered.

“He’s part of the firm?”

The scientist vividly nodded her head.

“Raphael, you see anything?”

“Ludovik Vesela, managing director of General Cosmetics,” the Watchman confirmed in the earpiece. 

“Ok, definitely internal corruption.”

Mariana did not want to tell more at the moment, as if she wished to not live again what had happened five minutes before. The two Watchmen used the time to observe the scene below and to try understanding anything playing there.

Svetlana grimaced in disgust when she glanced at the body of the frightened woman earlier, set on one of the tables. She looked around, and noticed Branko’s brother, the same small man and the now famous company head that Mariana had designated. Behind them, the six scientists were busy around the woman laying down, cutting-edge technological equipment encircling them. She then put on her glasses for a better acuity and detailed the guinea pig’s limbs. If she still looked alive with the exception of her rachitic figure and her wrinkled skin, her left thigh was entirely bloated, small blisters covering every inch of her epidermis.

“It’s not industrial espionage,” Leila whispered, “it’s illegal experimentation.”

“They use abandoned people as guinea pigs,” Svetlana added.

“So this is where the two found bodies would come from?”

“Probably,” Raphael interrupted through the earpiece. “It also explains that this address was written on the bags of illegal substance I found., The other team will get tot the room in five minutes to the most.”

“They’ll cover us,” Svetlana announced. “Leila, take Mariana and join the other scientists to put them safe. I’ll help the others, I have my removable sniper in my bag.”

“But you?”

“I just told you, I got this. We’ll take down the big guys first, then we’ll for the three main characters. They’re probably armed too. You, try to understand what’s happening.”

They all transmitted the message, and everyone got ready to act. Leila lifted Mariana by the arm and helped her to walk. The three men discussed without caring about the scientists’ work. Svetlana remained on the bridge, waiting for the imminent arrival of the other agents.

Leila warned the rest of the team through her earpiece. “I’m going to throw smoke to draw a smoke screen in front of the scientist. I’ll try to push them to the emergency stairs that go down the basement. Then I’ll get them out.”

She comforted Mariana one last time, assuring her she would shield her from her torturers; then, she took two smoke bombs from her tactical jacket. Svetlana grabbed her precision rifle that she assembled as calmly as she could, put it upon the guardrail and decided to aim at a guard next to the doctors. The three other agents were in position.

And Leila threw the two spheres containing smoke, that burst on the ground while releasing a thick white gas.

As the two bombs crushed against the central room’s dark slabs, a curtain of white opaque smoke stretched in front of the tables where were guinea pigs and syringes. The whole scientific staff was suddenly dissimulated by this veil looking like a cloud. A pungent smell escaped the fog.

Leila had already sprinted towards the scientists, hastily pulling Mariana by the arm. On her way, she swapped her silencer for a Steyr M pistol updated by the ballistic department, far less discreet, but far more efficient. She shot with no hesitation the only guard next to the doctors, bewildered by the smoke explosion.

Thenceforth, the three other agents barged into the central room and took down their first targets in a deafening din. Svetlana did the same and neutralized the militiamen who were the farthest. Gunshots flew across the room, bullets ricocheting on the bridges and the generators. One of them crashed into a battery of the power system, plunging the Eastern wing in darkness as a shower of sparks spread. It would give Leila more time to save the hostages.

Ludovik Vesela, the corrupted firm’s general manager and infamous man in suit, had thrown himself on the ground, protecting his head with his palms. One of the guards dodged the projectiles and rushed to a corner of the room. Lukas and Branko mirrored him, grabbing their respective guns. They ideally did not want to take Watchmen down, but to come out in one piece; but if the occasion arose, they would not hesitate to have casualties.

At this moment, nine of the thirteen guards had been struck down by the Watchmen’s bullets. But six armed men remained when the two Mafiosi were included. The other brutes, more resistant and probably more used to situations of that kind, had had the accurate reflexes, which had spared them momentarily. One of the three agents took a bullet in the arm; he kept trying to reach targets despite the wounded limb.

Svetlana felt that her cover would not last for long. Lukas, more experienced than most of his brainless right-arms, understood that a sniper was present on the footbridges. He blindly shot in the bullets’ guessed direction. His first shot largely missed the young woman, who however got aware of her vulnerability. Lukas’ second bullet nestled into the wall behind her, a few inches away from her head. She ducked on the side and tried to aim through the bridge’s rails. Though her hood protected her, she preferred to avoid any useless impact.

Leila were pushing all the doctors and chemists she saw to the back wall, plunged in the dark, where only the pale red light of the “Exit” sign radiated. A random bullet whistled in the shadows, and the woman tackled Mariana to the ground, shielding her with her back. The bullet went through the first lining of her backpack, also bulletproof. Leila was quickly back on her feet to pursue the run, the scientists still holding tight onto her arm like a life buoy. Most of the doctors panicked and had – fortunately – run to the door. They knocked over the tables, making the woman’s body fall on the floor in a muffled sound. She seemed unconscious, or seriously injured to the skull because of her fall. Leila had to look away and repress the feeling of guilt that crept inside her. She did not have enough time. She had to save those who still stood a chance. The woman on the ground were going through cardiac arrest, surely due to panic. Definitely turning her gaze away from the woman’s rolled up eyes, she continued to admonish the others to get out. Those paralyzed by fear were still lagging behind; and one of the chemists took a bullet in the heart. He collapsed, his face still tensed out by fear.

Leila achieved to secure the rest of the scientists and pushed them out of the room, the bullet deluge deafening din still raging. Svetlana just had the time to see Branko’s brother disappear as well as the man next to him, his swearing and thundering covered by the detonations. She glanced at her colleague’s position. They seemed to control the situation, soon free of the coriaceous guards. The young woman pulled the barrel of her weapon up as fast as she could and kept it in hand, lacking time. She emerged from her hideout and ran to the nearest door, kicking it open on her way. She also pressed her earpiece, immediately connecting with Raphael.

“The two got away! I’ll try to find them!” she shouted, no longer caring about the noise she made.

“I saw,” the Watchmen remarked with a poised voice, but hinted with apprehension. “Be careful, they’re two and you’re alone. No one can go with you?”

“We don’t have time,” she retorted while racing, “I’ll adapt to the situation! Warn the others, I’ll look for Rebirth!”

“You probably won’t find anything here,” he protested. “It’s a place of action, where the manipulations take place. The theory should be at Ludovik Vesela’s. We’ll send the police search his house.”

Svetlana struggled to listen to Raphael as she crisscrossed the decrepit corridors. She refused to think she was lost, though she had not taken this way the first time. She had no time to check her dematerialized map, so she tried to remember it.

The two Mafiosi obviously sought an exit, it was evident. But which of the three, that was the question. _If I were them_ , Svetlana winced at the thought, _I’d avoid the basement because even if I feel safer, I saw an agent go inside_ , she deducted. _Finally, I wouldn’t take the main entrance to not get caught like an idiot. Too obvious._

She thus chose to speed up and get to the back exit, the notched sole of her boots hitting the metal stairs. She repeatedly almost tripped, her heart hitting her chest because of adrenaline. Her bag, which had been conceived to be handy and unparallelly light now seemed too heavy and cumbersome. Her hectic breathing slowly but surely made her head spin, as she made inhuman effort to remain stable and calm. Svetlana ended on a wide corridor; if she mentally rebuilt the edifice, logically, she had to take right and repeat the same action to reach the exit. The young woman sped up, leaning on walls to run off even faster. The gunshots were far away but still there.

Suddenly, in a terrible shock, she violently bumped into a moving person who also rushed out of the corridor. The two rolled on the ground, their bodies numbed by the impact. Svetlana curled, her backpack lessening the fall: the other one brought his arms under his skull to protect his head. The young woman was stunned by the collision, already affected by the mission, but clutched her rifle with conviction, as if it were the only object linking her to reality. She had put her hood on just like Leila, but it had not been sufficient to repress the tremendous pain inside her brains.

She stood up while coughing and stared at the cause of her fall: it was the man she chased. Despite his imposing stature, he looked as dazed by the shock. But he rapidly regained composure and grabbed his gun.

Svetlana sent a kick into the hand holding the gun, but it did not fall down; the one suspected to be Lukas during the whole operation held his weapon and kicked the woman’s calf. She moaned in pain and tried to give him a taste of his medicine and kneed him just below the abdomen… where it hurt some individuals more than others. Lukas bent under the blow.

“You son of a bitch!” he spat, persuaded that his adversary was a man.

At the moment Svetlana desperately tried to snatch the gun off his hands, a gunshot reaching the ceiling, the other Branko tumbled from the small corridor from where came Lukas. Without dithering, thinking it was better to preserve Lukas than Branko’s twin, Svetlana aimed the rifle’s barrel she still had in her hands on him. She shot with her long-range weapon the man who only was a few inches from them. He was powerfully projected backwards and crushed way farther, his chest ripped in two and reddened because of the bullet. She now could focus on her enemy.

Lukas, beside himself, ferociously punched Svetlana’s face; she barely had time to soften it with her forearms before crumbling down. The metallic taste of blood spread into her mouth, and the rasping sound of broken bone cracked above her jaw like gravel being crushed. A vivid pain made her see blurry, and she felt she would get killed here even with bare hands if she did not act. The intel could go to hell, she perfectly knew what it was about.

“You should never had messed with Lukas,” he fulminated while tightening his deadly fists.

At least she was certain of the man’s identity.

It was about obnoxious human trafficking developed by ex-Vukovi, whose head was Lukas. General Cosmetics and its general manager had taken part in this infernal enterprise to solve their obscure issues allegedly financial. In a nutshell, Mariana Radka and other scientists had been held hostage to experiment against their will. Only the explanations of the bodies, the substance and the numbers were left.

But it would be for later. Without thinking, Svetlana rolled on the side to avoid the first bullet shot by Lukas and pulled the trigger of her rifle trice. The madman’s body was shaken with spasms as the overmighty bullets went through him right in the chest, and he fell down his height, hitting the concrete wall. The young woman’s ear buzzed because of the gunshot that had ricocheted next to her head.

The corridor was silent. The central room seemed to be too. One could only hear the scared cries of doctors in the opposite wing.

_The complex’s basement, 7:10PM_

Leila still led the scientists to the exit. She prayed for the corridors to be cleared up of any remaining guard; she would have trouble protecting them all alone.

Mariana was beginning to lose her strength and became quite heavy: her grip clutched Leila’s biceps ever more. Suddenly, two of the scientists, already reluctant to follow her, stopped and convinced other with them.

“We can’t leave, they’ll find us and will kill us!” one of them claimed. “And there has to be other men everywhere in the building!”

“They made sure we understood that, and our families are in danger too,” another one added. “It’s already a miracle that the police worried about Radka’s fate…” Other voices resonated in the half-light.

“Listen to me, your family, you won’t see it again if you die pierced by bullets or tortured for having tried to escape,” Leila retorted. “Follow me or they might blow the building up to trap us.”

“Speaking of that,” Raphael interrupted her in her earpiece. “Unfortunately, the other team detected explosive content in the engine room. You need to get out as fast as possible.”

Leila nodded, and gestured to follow her again.

“Me, I don’t trust you, who’s telling us you’re not one of them?” a woman resumed. “They tricked me with the management board!”

“We’re an intervention police group,” Leila delivered. “Follow me and shut the hell up, we have no time to argue.”

“ _You_ shut the hell up!” a man mute until now shouted. “They promised us protection if we did what they told us to do. They need us, they’re not gonna kill us!”

Leila was sick and tired of this. Before leaving her, Svetlana had given her a little unknown bottle. _It’ll be more useful to you than to me if you take care of the hostages_ , she had affirmed. She understood that this “weapon” would not be lethal since she had been entrusted with keeping those people alive. She took it, oriented it to the man persisting to stop; he looked worried. She grabbed him by the neck, brought him to the ground while blocking his fall as in a judo move, and pressed the tube which spread a volatile squirt on his face. A few seconds later, he was overcome with deep fainting, definitely calmed down.

“He’s not that heavy, someone carry him while I lead, and we leave that nightmare,” Leila resolutely declared.

And everyone sped up to get out. Raphael’s directions filled the dark-haired woman’s earpiece, who sent them outside.

_Military base parking lot, 7:16PM_

The group of twenty people moved to fresh air, freed from the corridors’ strong whiffs and the morbid atmosphere that filled them. Each responded to the situation in a particular way; some started to weep or to throw up, others were astounded with a void gaze, and the remaining fell to the ground, trying to catch their breath.

Leila was, on the other hand, not entirely reassured yet; she had no news of Svetlana nor of the two Mafiosi, and even less of Ludovik Vesela. She contacted Raphael.

“You got Svetlana in visual contact?”

“She said she wanted to deal with the two suspects seen at the beginning. She thinks, just like I do, that it’s Lukas with the Branko twin. Two agents went deactivating the bomb and the third handles Vesela. I’ll contact her.”

“Route what she says to everyone. And the explosive stuff?”

“Apparently, they were hidden in the basement and in the roof, hence the barricaded accesses. But they’re not all timed. Some have to blow up with manual activation.”

“Someone has a remote? A switch?”

“For them, it’s either the Branko twin, either the other.”

Svetlana’s raucous voice was suddenly heard. It was cut by coughing.

“I’ve been attacked,” she began.

“Svetlana, are you okay?” Leila said with apparent concern. “And the two?”

“Yeah, yeah… both out of service.”

“Ah,” Raphael made. “Was it really necessary? I can’t believe you made it.”

“ _Yes_ , it was necessary, believe me. And the small one was Lukas.” Leila, Raphael and the three agents discreetly nodded.

“So it was him,” Leila remarked.

“Didn’t he have a remote on him by any chance?” Raphael wondered.

“A remote?” Svetlana said, puzzled. “Erm, I’ll look for it.”

There were sounds of a jacket being turned over and over, at least what remained of it around the three gaping holes dripping with blood inside Lukas’ body. Svetlana put her hand on her mouth because the smell became unbearable. Then she walked more, made more noise.

“Ah! It’s Branko who has it, in a bag!” she shot.

“That’s what I thought, a manual remote to wipe out the vital stuff,” another agent added.

“Wait, is it gonna blow up?” Svetlana inquired in a distressed tone.

“Not everything,” Raphael comforted her. “We suppose they put a few explosives in case somebody found anything making evidence against them, to destroy the proof and the equipment. If the situation went sour – like earlier – Lukas would have had the means to make everything go off, pretexting a fire. As for Vesela, I learned he had a less efficient duplicate. He also could have done it if he hadn’t been stopped.”

“In a nutshell you should all get out,” Leila summarized.

“No need to say it twice!” Svetlana whimpered while massaging her cheek.

She left the two corpses she had shot down and dragged herself to the exit dor. She was followed by the agent keeping Ludovik Vesela, and the two others who had tried to disarm most of the bombs. Ten minutes later, everyone was on the parking lot, more or less unharmed. The scientists had formed a group while watching over their injured confrere. Mariana Radka, barely recovering from her emotions, went to find Leila and Svetlana.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” she began.

“It’s our job, Ma’am,” Leila admitted, Svetlana nodding at her side. The woman tried to smile in vain, still traumatized by the past events. She continued.

“I can tell you what happened.”

“That’s be helpful, indeed,” Svetlana confirmed. She still had trouble enunciating clearly.

“I… work for General Cosmetics,” Mariana started. “I was recently promoted in the research department for a secret project. I already had doubts, but… I suppose that the profit motive was strong enough,” she articulated with shame.

“Project Rebirth, right?” Leila asked.

“Y-Yes. At first, we were experimenting on animals, which already wasn’t legal. But when those allegedly willing human participants began to arrive, I really had suspicions. It was a month ago. I’m not proud of it, but Mr. Vesela had ways to pressure me, I didn’t want to lose my job…”

“Please continue.”

“The ‘volunteers’ were all in a bad state. Beggars, paperless, refugees… And they all had connections with fishy organizations. When we moved into this place, I got really scared, like the others. And soon enough, the mafia intervened because of the money. They even provided us with guinea pigs, God knows how. Then, after work, we just all went home as if nothing happened, fearing that our families were the target of those criminal groups.”

“But what was the purpose of those experiments? The stake? Why would Mafiosi get involved?” Leila asked.

Mariana looked around her nervously and continued. “General Cosmetics wanted… a miracle product. Well, it’s the explanation they gave us. I don’t know why they didn’t proceed the usual way, and why they resorted to such… atrocities! But that was the stake. Project Rebirth disclosed the design of an extremely efficient product. From… what I know. No one ever had access to the file in its entirety. That product was supposed to cure any skin disease, it’s why we’re known in general. Except that we have been provided with untreated substances, directly imported goods that met no standard…”

“Ma’am, were you aware of General Cosmetics’ bankruptcy?” Leila interrupted.

“Bank…ruptcy?”

“Yes, critical, even. Vesela did what he could to dissimulate his declining capital to financial control authorities, but we found the transcripts.”

“You’re saying that-”

“To me, it’s clear that he used illegal criminal means to finance his project and counted on the success of those experiments to restore his dying firm’s image,” Leila deducted. “But we can’t neglect exterior pressures too, like debts. In any case, Vesela really relied on a marketing ploy to bail out the company.”

Svetlana was still skeptical about a few aspects, that remained gray areas. Despite her increasing pain in the jaw, she asked. “How could Vesela be sure his miracle product would work? I mean, there is plenty of companies that screw their plans up…”

Mariana seemed to have a piece of answer to that question that tormented Leila too. “I don’t know if you heard about a recent highly contagious zona pandemic,” she began. “Those skin rashes go with a weakening of the immune system among others, and… resurface in tropical countries, with a damp climate.” Leila had a mirthless laughter.

“Let me guess, Laos and Thailand, maybe?”

“Yes… Were you aware of it?”

“More or less. Kind of explains things.”

Mariana said nothing, attempting at digesting all the things that had been listed. If she had been lucid for a moment, she now wished to give into apathy and stress-induced exhaustion. She stared with her empty eyes the distant lights of Sabralis, akin to a comforting horizon.

“Leila, the team couldn’t disarm two of the bombs, we should move back, even if the base is far away,” Svetlana resumed.

“Oh my God,” Mariana gasped.

“Big charges?”

“Not that much, but debris can fly.”

They all moved behind the cars to absorb to the best the potential shockwave. When everybody was safe, Leila persuaded Mariana to pursue her story. It was not easy, but the scientists seized the importance of her testimony. And she had not clarified everything.

Svetlana and Leila thus learned that three days ago, when Mariana witnessed the first death of one of the guinea pigs under treatment, she decided to take action. Horrified and appalled, she waited for the guards to put the body in an improvised pit. The mafia had planned on throwing the corpse or to reuse the interesting pieces for later. At that moment, the scientist had used a moment granted by Vesela to trigger a power cut, had grabbed the body, and had dragged it to the basements and up to the sewers. There, it had been washed away by the waters, as she hoped it would be carried to the Vltava, then meandering through the city. It was a hazardous bet, but she had felt the need to use Vesela’s trust in her to signal the trafficking.

Mariana repeated the process with the second dying man, whose hand had been severed because it had a significant convict tattoo. The penitentiary would have had no trouble furnishing the documents testifying of the individual’s identity; she hoped all the same that the missing hand would arise suspicion. She was discovered by Lukas and his men at that moment, who held her hostage until tonight’s theoretical success. They were planning to kill her a few moments after, which explained the guard sticking to her when Leila had intervened.

Thus had appeared the two corpses into the Sabralis water courses. What she did substantially jeopardized project Rebirth, as mysterious as it could be, and Vesela was ready to sacrifice Mariana and dozens of other people to carry out his plan. He was governed by his craving for recognition and was prepared to risk it all to get his head out of the muddy waters of debt. If the firm went down, he went down with it; and he could not allow this to happen. 

The numbers, copied from meaningless cattle, enabled them to register the tests’ effects as well as the reaction of diverse organisms, and to lose track of the experiment in a fictious livestock.

As for Dimitri Kralova, he was supposed to bring the documents exposing the development of the project to Branko, who would pass them to Lukas. The latter, who had used Jelinek to send the substances from Laos to Sabralis, had been in contact with the Asian subsidiary of General Cosmetics to buy cheap synthesized products on the spot, but with limited efficiency. Moreover, the first failures had been reflected by an hyperacute response to the substance, monstrous blisters popping on the skin. Kralova had himself given a sample to his sister in order to slyly make an additional guinea pig out of her, and she had showed the same symptoms. Svetlana had endured it too. If he had been discovered and shot down that night by the two women, it was because an agent had managed to keep track of him, confirming the business he was in. And the unsecured briefcase was probably explained by his forger expertise and had revelled in self-confidence.

A few seconds later, a first detonation ripped the night, blowing off a piece of roof of the base. Despite the sufficient distance that set the group apart from the building, each was startled by the shock, some more than others. A second smaller explosion took place above the central room, releasing glowing flames. The civilians rushed behind the cars, frightened and fascinated by the deflagration. The agents observed from afar, knowing there was no danger. Only a minor fire persisted to devour the right part of the roof, since the other remotes had been seized.

The familiar sirens of police cars and firemen came closer. As expected, law enforcement agents took care of the victims without plaguing the Watchmen with questions. In the dead of the night, only the spot of the abandoned base fire tainted the sky with a deep garnet red.

_Watchmen Headquarters, 9:02PM_

Just like someone comes home from the office late in the evening to deal with enormous amounts of paperwork, Svetlana returned to the Headquarters after the General Cosmetics operation. This alarming routine banalized the daily violence she faced, she and her colleagues. They had few instants of respite in between those moments of incredibly high emotional intensity. The young Russian held her banded cheek, on which had been applied a regenerating cream as soon as she came back, slumped on an office chair. She still had that harsh metallic taste in her mouth, but it had faded. None of her teeth had fortunately been broken. She had checked her phone, and had only received a text from Mei, informing her of her promotion within her intern group. Leila was sitting in front of her, worried, as Raphael joined them both at the table.

“Not too much damage?” he asked.

“Not according to Soan, no,” Svetlana smiled. As the corners of her mouth went up, she winced in pain. Leila frowned.

“You know Svetlana, she could take a 22-long rifle in the stomach and would just go to sleep it away.” Raphael cracked an amused grin whereas the young Russian copied her colleague, making a face.

“Speaking of which, you got nothing with Branko?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you… _met_ him when you drove to the premises, right? Didn’t he try to skin you alive?”

“Ah, yes. Indeed. He tried, but I have some good reflexes left. Well, pieces.” He punctuated his sentence with a gesture, pulling down the collar of his black jumper to unveil the purplish streaks that marked his throat. The two women widened their eyes.

“And I thought you wore a turtleneck for something else?!” Leila exclaimed. She was welcomed with exasperated eyes.

“Anyhow, seems like the dismantling of the Vukovi wasn’t really successful,” Svetlana mentioned, changing subject. “What’s left of them quickly retrained.”

“It was a while ago,” Leila noted. “Three years ago, to be precise. I had barely arrived. Raphael?”

“I was on another case. I don’t have two brains.” As they were engaging in their piques-throwing session, a blonde tornado barged at their table.

“Hey Svetlana! And Raphael! Aaand you too,” he more hesitantly greeted the black woman. Leila raised her brows at Aidan, who had just collapsed on a chair next to her with a forged sloppy style, his white blouse wide open and revealing a vintage printed shirt and black jeans enlivened by a small chain. He was halfway between a hippie and the typical fashion addict.

“Who are you?” she laughed. “I’m Leila.”

“Aidan Kingsley, Ma’am. I met Svetlana earlier before she left for the operation, I wanted to know if everything unfolded well.”

Svetlana glared at him, pretending to be jaded, showing her visibly wounded cheek. She raised an ironic thumb up. The blonde guffawed.

“But you had your hood on, didn’t you? And my gadget, did it work?”

Raphael had never been so close to facepalm, certain that Leila would love that kid. “Wait, _you_ made that thing?” the dark-haired woman inquired, delighted to find a person as cheerful as she was in this dreary place. “I used it to knock an annoying guy out.”

“So it worked?” the blonde repeated all smiles. “Yes!!!”

“Why, you had doubts about it while giving it to us?” Svetlana almost chocked.

“No, but that means I passed the test my tutor imposed me. Since you used it in a mission, I can do lots of cooler stuff. More in my area of expertise.”

“Which is?”

Aidan took on a theatrical air, straightening up and taking a breath, head high. “Ballistic!”

Raphael and Svetlana remained circumspect, but only the Russian said out loud what they both thought, letting the Watchman reflect upon the hasty compliments he made to the blonde earlier. “You make weapons, _you_?”

“Yep. I studied in a special cycle to develop killer weapons, in both ways,” he gloated.

“And how old are you?”

“Twenty, why?”

Leila almost chocked. “You’re a kid! How’s that possible, Raphael?”

“Why are you accusing me? I’m not handling recruiting. I just know they spot their future employees as soon as possible. And he’s only a year younger than Svetlana.” The Russian looked at him with a blank look on her face.

“Wow, really?” Aidan was surprised. “I thought you were way older than me! But yeah, you don’t look so old, now that I think about it.”

“Great, wow, nice of you. Can we talk about Rebirth now?”

“You have a gift for breaking the mood,” Leila protested. “But yeah, something’s wrong in that mess. I have a hunch that cops won’t find anything at Vesela’s.”

“It’s highly probable,” Raphael asserted. “If the General Cosmetics scientists only had a vague definition of the project, I suppose we won’t get intel so easily. It can be a codename for something bigger.”

Leila and Svetlana nodded in approval. Aidan was carefully listening. “Is it like, secret stuff?”

“Yes.”

“Dangerous?”

“Certainly.”

“You still want to be a field agent?” Svelana asked him. “Maybe it’s better if you stay there, conceiving weapons, you know.”

“Why, you don’t want me to come with you?”

“Ah, what, no, not at all. I’m just saying that it’s not easy everyday…”

Raphael threw her a glanced that told a lot, for instance that she behaved really like a hypocrite.

“Well, I still want to,” the blonde hammered. “I want to see what this job allows to do, like, _in depth_. I don’t wanna be cooped up in the lab making your guns, I want to test them right on the spot.”

Despite the little seriousness emanating from the young man, the three were relatively convinced by his speech. The Russian in particular, who changed her mind, since she shared his point of view. To fully exploit what this job could offer, and change things.

“Well, you’re not going to be freestyling like us tonight right away,” Leila warned him. “I think Apollina told you about a trial period, right?”

“Yeah. But I’ll learn! And so we can make a great team together.”

They all more or less giggled, dazed by the touching naivety of the new idealistic recruit. Almost as idealistic as Svetlana.

“It’s yes, not yeah,” Raphael said.

***

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is the first case of a long-term story I've been dying to publish in any way possible! It is a bit sketchy, but roughly contains the ideas I'd like to exploit: human relations in a futuristic world, police-like investigations with a bit more violence, revenge, and genetic manipulations that will soon degenerate in the next case. I hope the little team we will follow gets the reader's attention, because they are characters on which I really worked hard, and I have plenty of things to make them live!   
> Thank you in advance for any reading or kudos obviously very welcome!


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